Illidan's Private Journal - The Vineyard Promise
(Fragment, penned in Illidan's hand.)
I meant tonight to be a celebration.
My robes still smell of lavender and the faint metallic tang of anticipation. I'd imagined the Vineyard's light on her hair, imagined laughter and something dangerously close to peace. I almost believed I deserved that.
Instead, the door opened and the world narrowed to the blood on her cheek.
Her braid undone, her hands raw, her breath shaking—
for a moment I thought I had already lost her.
Every lesson, every ward, every fragment of power felt useless against the sheer terror of what I might not protect.
But she was there.
Standing. Breathing. Whole.
And I forgot the Vineyard, the dinner, the hour, the world.
When I kissed her, it wasn't for beauty or occasion.
It was the only prayer I knew—an offering to the quiet truth that she still existed in my arms.
She laughed, tired and human and alive, and I knew then what no incantation could hide:
I love her.
Not as possession.
Not as conquest.
As the axis upon which my life now turns.
The Vineyard can wait.
The scones can wait.
Even the stars can wait.
She walked through that door, and the universe steadied.