Wilting Away (Part 9)

Regardless of the time that Florence Starseer had spent with her most recent subject, she could never entirely grasp a single thing about them. Her assistant was much the same. They had made numerous visits to this particular cell, and had never really left knowing much more than they had coming in. It didn't matter how much they poked or prodded, they got nothing in regards to the elf's orders, her loyalties, or where she even came from. Perhaps worst of all, they had yet to even determine what the elf was.

Because, obvious a statement as it might be, the elf wasn't at all normal. It wasn't just the yammer, and the chattering she did with herself. That was the least of their concerns. It was the fact that nothing ever seemed to phase her. The glow in her eye. The fact that nothing they did to her ever seemed to stick. The woman never seemed to need to sleep, or eat, or drink. Any wounds were soon healed, but it was obvious that this woman was no druid, and she had no connection to the Light.

Whatever she was felt unholy, and Florence was here to confirm those suspicions on such matters. Except now she was having the problem of someone being too cooperative. Today the elf had feel like talking, and it unsettled her. Everything about their little session so far had unsettled her.

Their guest was composed, at least by the standards of what they had come to expect. She sat straight up, green hair appearing to have been straightened out. Her hands were clasped together, and the look on her face was one of someone serious about whatever they were meant to be talking about. It was as if they were talking to someone else entirely.

"Shall we go through the usual questions," Florence said smoothly, pressing the tip of the dagger she had brought today into the table, spinning the hilt with the tip of her finger.

"Elena Wiltmend, no affiliated, no orders," the elf said.

Florence blinked, leaning forward somewhat, "Name, order, and commands, then."

"Yes," Elena muttered, before proceeding to repeat herself under her breath. Florence's eyes narrowed. That madness was still there, just hiding under the surface.

Giving a short look to her assistant, Florence turned back to Elena, "Well if you've no orders, than what brings you here?"

"I want to be here," came the next set of muttering, "I need to be here."

Bringing her fingers to massage her forehead, Florence sighed, "And why do you need to be here."

"I'm seeking something," Elena said, leaning forward, "Something outside. I need it."

Setting the dagger on the table, hands resting on top of it, Florence leaned back, a bland expression on her face, "What a wonderful explanation. Perhaps let's skip this nonsense and go a bit further to what we're here to establish, miss...'Wiltmend'."

"You want to know what I am."

"That we do," she murmured, canting a brow, "We would much like to know that."

The other elf brought her hands up to rub together, poking and prodding at herself until she seemed to get a good grasp of 'what' she was. With that established those glowing blue eyes settled on the other two, "I'm like you. Dying. Burning."

The two shared a look, "Last I checked, we're neither mortally wounded, nor on fire."

"Except you're both burning up. You have to keep adding fuel to it, but it keeps disappearing and you need more. Don't do it, and you'll lose it all."

Florence's assistant finally picked a moment to butt in, stepping forward, "Are you some type of withered?"

Elena was swift to rebuke the possibility, "No. No I am not withering, I am. I don't know."

"Wilting?" Florence offered just as blandly as before, "Perhaps try mending it."

"Doesn't work. Never works."

"Too bad," Florence muttered, standing. With a swift motion of her hand her assistant made her way around to Wiltmend's chair, placing her hands on the elf's shoulders. "We're just going to skip the rest of this nonsense. Take what we need to figure a few things out for ourselves without you, thanks."

The other elf barely moved a muscle. Instead she left her hands laid bare flat against the table, staring up at Florence, "I know."

Eyes narrowing, Florence circled the table, dagger in hand. She brought the weapon up, waiting for the elf to do anything. Flinch. Attack. Withdraw her hands. Anything that showed she was worried. But there was nothing. When she didn't get anything, the Nightborne brought the blade down for a reason other than what she intended. It had been brought along to take the elf's hand for the sake of science. That was still what it was accomplishing, but now, it was more out of spite. Once they piece was detached, she motioned for it to be scooped up, and made to leave the room, not even bothering to turn around. She knew what was behind her. A damned elf who never did a damned thing about anything.