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Mistral
She curbed her first impulse to open her eyes when finally consciousness returned to her vulnerable state. Hushed whispers and a painfully tight grip on her wrist - that surely was Larry? - were all that she could sense. Yet there was something more important that she could barely pick up.
Irritation.
Just a little, not an overwhelming proportion of hate.
And then, a tinge of malicious pleasure.
That drifted by like a little wind... no, like a ghost...
She stiffened.
The ghosts of the past. Are they watching me now with greedy eyes, ready to avenge themselves for Father's wrongs? ~ The exertion to remain passive was draining her ~ Why am I questioning my own father? What sort of daughter would do that?! ~ A tightness formed over her lips, and the eye movements behind the closed lids grew rapid ~ What must I do?! Oh Mystra, if you abandon me now, all will be lost!!
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