[center][color=c4df9b][u]Dareen Kahina[/u][/color][/center] 

Dareen opened her dark brown eyes and looked with an unsurprised and guilty look on her face. [color=c4df9b]"That's us." [/color]she said simply. Her heart rate had picked up again, and her throat had dried out. The fact that she was having to defend her actions was surprising. Why wasn't she dead already? This gave her hope. Hope of survival was bringing the fear back. What could she say to get out of this? What magic combination of words could she weave together to garner this woman's sympathy? Mind and heart racing, she tried to be calm. 

[color=c4df9b]"It was either that, or become some Warlord or Prince's house wife. Or, uh, the mines, if I wanted an early yet slow death. I was good at fighting, so I fought. We looked out for each other. They were the only real family I ever knew." [/color] Dareen spoke without confidence. Vapid excuses, she thought to herself. Meaningless words, surely? Family brought back thoughts of her father, If he really counted. Even all these years later Dareen can't tell if she resents the man or not. Perhaps it was pity. Or respect? It didn't matter, for it was true. She was raised on the streets and in the company. And after all that, she was probably going to die on this comfortable couch. Could Faeril just turn off the part of her brain that worked her heart? Or would it be a screaming death, like the kind her brothers in arms once had.

[color=c4df9b]"I...I don't know. I don't know."[/color] She offered up weakly, shrugging, defeated. Anything she said could easily be read as pleading for her life. A trick, just to get out of here alive. Explain? Explain what? Gold. She did it for the blood money in her back pocket. So she wouldn't have to be poor anymore. Anything better than being poor. Because she'd rather be a murderer than have nothing to eat. Or be an object for someone like Xandar to be proud of. Or have her spirit and body crushed in the lantern-lit mines. Looking back, perhaps submitting to a Prince wouldn't have been so bad.

Looking back on that thought, no, it certaintly would have. That's just the pride talking. The ambition and hunger to be something more. Well, tell that to Faeril. It's one thing to say 'I'd rather die.' It's another entirely to say 'I'd rather kill.'


 She watched as Faeril revealed her shiny trinket. One that signified she was a part of the Hourglass Coven. Dareen had seen it before, and it scared her. I don't want to die, Dareen thought. Her stream of consciousness was a mess and it was hard to concentrate on one train of thought. Say the wrong thing and it's over. Should she beg? Or that would that make things even worse? Faeril was right about one thing, Dareen thought: I am a dramatic child at heart.

Furrowing her brow, Dareen hesitated. Taking a deep, shaky breathe, she spoke. No more bullshit. No point in apologies. 

[color=c4df9b]"I don't want forgiveness."[/color] Voice cracking, she continued. [color=c4df9b]"I just want to make things right. I'm sorry."[/color] That was it. Dareen lowered her face into her marked palms and ran her fingers through her short, braided hair, bringing the hood around her neck. What a mess. All she wanted was a fucking drink! Now she was spilling her guts in a room full of people who had nothing but contempt or apathy for her.