Stasi: Several Months Ago...
You can break me down if it takes all your might...
I'm breaking, and the only way I can stop the pain is by getting drunk.
Dear gods, I think I've gone too far this time. Unless someone snuck into my room and dumped their own bottles in the corner...but I doubt it.
"I'm trying to teach you the art of subtlety." "Your guard needs to learn some manners." "A lady has no place in men's breeches shooting pointed sticks." "You need to be yourself." That last thought, advice from just one of the many people who have attempted--and failed, so far--to kill me, is ironically making this sorry situation even worse. In my insanely drunken state, "being myself" would be just fine if I happened to be a bloody orc, but as a sin'dorei, all I am doing is driving everyone away. I'm a walking, talking embarrassment. The only creature that doesn't look at me with various expressions of disgust is Bein, my beautiful, amazing wolf.
In the twisted way drink can turn one's mood, my wallow in self-pity turns to a blazing anger fit to rival the fire elementals I'd helped the Earthen Ring with, a short time ago. I've spent my entire life forging and following my own path, shaping myself into a top marksman. I've gone into the Outlands, alone, to hunt down my bitch of a mother. I killed her--yes, I admit it, the memory surfacing with crystalline clarity:
Half-dead from magic-inflicted wounds, the wolf I'd partnered with before Bein in a smoldering, motionless heap, standing alone over my dying mother as she chokes on the blood that wells up and around the arrow in her lady-pale throat...
An empty bottle shatters as I fling it across the room with a scream, jarring myself out of the past. I collapse against the pillows of my bed, muffling my sobs in my pillow. I wanted answers; I never wanted to have to kill my own mother...but I'd done it, and the only regret I carry is that I hadn't finished her before she'd destroyed Mekela.
My rage twists into something resembling pride. Despite the odds against us, I stood strong with the Horde to bring down the Cult of the Forgotten. Though I didn't defeat them, I at least brought home to my own opponents that I could, and would, fight on, even if I had to stand alone to do so.
Rage again, recalling what my commander told me before I left her presence earlier. So I'm a good soldier, but not good enough to be seen with her in company? She didn't say that last bit, but it's behind her words, lurking in the back of her eyes. Even my priest friend feels the same. The nutjob mage I've somehow diverted--for the moment--from blowing everyone sky-high? He's too insane to care. So long as I allow him to destroy something (within reason, even I am not that low), he's relatively happy.
I have no one, when it comes down to it. No one but myself and my wolf. So I'm too outspoken and brash to be seen with anyone of any importance? So what? As soon as I'm sober, I'm finishing the hunt that brought me back to Silvermoon and going back to the wilderness, where I truly belong. I'm past the point of caring. I will happily lend my bow to the causes of the Horde, but I will not submit myself to the manipulations of those who I thought were my friends. I would not let Arya, my mother, change me; I would not let the magisters belittle me; I would not let the Mighty, Glorious Paladins treat me like garbage. I am Anjastasia Sunrunner, hunter by choice and scout and soldier by profession, and no one will take that away. They can try, but they will die trying.
'Cause I'm so much more than all your lies...
Lyrics: "Breakdown", by Seether.