Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Drustvar was unexpectedly nice. At least as nice as anything could be on this thrice damned island.

The streets of Boralus had been far too crowded for Sylvanas’ liking, not to mention the scene it caused every time someone noticed her and her rangers slinking through the city. Even the rest of Tiragarde had been dotted with people that seemed hell bent on getting in her way.

Stormsong was somewhat better. There were wide open spaces and room to roam, but it was so… idyllic. The picturesque quality made her skin crawl, and the constant beat of the sun irritated her already frayed nerves.

They hadn’t bothered to spend long in either.

In Drustvar, however, Sylvanas took her time.

It was quiet here. Not the fearful sort of quiet that hinted at predators nearby, but something softer. Restful, almost. Everything was muffled through the deathly, unnatural fog that saturated the air with the smell of damp leaves and freshly turned soil. Much like Lordaeron, it was dim - dimmer than the rest of the perpetually overcast island. The presence of the dead, the cursed, and the magic that fuelled them had a way of repelling sunlight. It was easy on the sensitive eyes of her and her rangers.

They rode behind her in no particular order as their horses' hooves clattered up the path to Corlain, weaving back and forth to talk to each other or play whatever game they’d come up with this time. A few miles back, Kalira had even jumped off her horse and onto Clea’s to murmur furtively into her ear. It left her skeletal mount to be the only one still in formation.

Sylvanas didn’t bother stopping them. 

They’d had a run in with a particularly nasty herd of strange deer on the border of Drustvar, but nothing of note had happened since. She was glad not to have to write another incident report, but she knew her rangers suffered for the lack of excitement. Sylvanas had thought that having her rangers with her would ease some of the anxiety of being stranded in a foreign nation with nothing to do. Unfortunately, all it did was curse them to be just as bored as her.

So she pretended not to notice as they made their own fun - difficult, seeing as they weren’t even trying to hide it - and silently cursed the pact for what must have been the thousandth time since her wedding.

She would have been just fine to have been left in Lordaeron, but there was a specific clause that required them to at least be in the same nation. Sure, there were exceptions (and about twenty subclauses that gave her a damn headache to think about), but this was not one of them.

And gods forbid Jaina let her do anything useful while she was here. Sylvanas was apparently expected to sit quietly in a corner and stay out of the way for the entire month. It took nearly a day of pulling her hair out before she realized that, as long as she stayed in Kul Tiras, she could just leave Proudmoore Keep.

If Jaina was angry about it, Sylvanas didn’t know. She’d had the message delivered as she was riding out of the gates. She liked to think that Jaina was livid . The thought made her ears perk up and a satisfied smile curl across her lips.

“We’re approaching Corlain.” Anya called. She’d had to wrestle the maps they’d bought in Boralus away from Vorel - who had been giving them mile by mile updates - a few hours into their trip.

Sure enough, the path split a little ways past an old watchtower and led down into the town. The houses and businesses along the main road were nearly crumbling with age, though they’d been repaired and cared for. The rest, however, looked as though they’d just been built.

Sylvanas didn’t have to say anything as they grew near; the rangers pulled themselves together, guiding their steeds into formation behind her. As much as they loved their games, they loved what an ominous scene six banshees riding in sync on skeletal horses presented even more.

The citizens of Corlain weren’t anywhere near as jumpy as the rest of Boralus - the rest of Drustvar, even. They eyed the six riders with open suspicion, but didn’t flee to their homes to bolt the doors. And, after they sized them up, they immediately turned their backs and ignored them as if that would make the entire situation disappear. It was curious, but interesting.

Soon enough, they’d cleared the small town and it’s strange inhabitants.

“What’s next?” She asked, squinting at the next town. It was so close to Corlain that they’d arrive in less than ten minutes, but she couldn’t see any activity whatsoever. It’s gates were wide open, nearly falling off their hinges with disuse.

“Upper Corlain.” Anya said, “Then Waycrest Manor just after it.”

Upper Corlain was… charming. The gallows were the first sight to greet them, right in the middle of the town square. The very empty town square. Unlike the rest of Drustvar, this quiet was eerie. No nature had moved to consume the abandoned town, leaving it with nothing but the silence and the scent of rust and wood rot.

It seemed that the brave souls that repopulated Corlain weren’t quite brave enough to retake the rest of their town. Sylvanas couldn’t blame them. Even from here, she could see the manor looming at the top of the hill. Unnatural mist lingered around it’s edges, softening its silhouette enough that it looked just out of focus.

“This is home to the Lady of Drustvar?” She asked as they approached the gates. These ones were not falling apart, but it was a close thing. The entire manor looked like it was sagging in on itself, slumped and weary. It would have been impressive if not for the dead and rotting feel of it.

“Yeah.” Clea said, standing up in her stirrups to look through the iron bars. “She took the mantle shortly before Lady Proudmoore was appointed Lord Admiral, I believe.”

Sylvanas scanned the area for guards, keepers, or even just lookouts. There were none. Not even a sign that any had been there and simply hid at the sight of them. It made even her hackles rise.

“Vorel.” She said, eyes narrowed.

Vorel jumped off her horse and walked up to the gates. Her sharp eyes peered at their surroundings, the ground inside the gate, then down the path to Corlain. When she came back to Sylvanas, her eyebrows were knit together.

“The only tracks since the last rain are a human, a horse, and a cart.”

“Only one human?”

Vorel nodded. “And it looks like they left a few hours ago.”

Sylvanas’ nose wrinkled. Manors like this usually had a lot more traffic, a lot more staff, than just one person.

Her ears twitched at a distant, echoing noise. A few more moments revealed it to be the tramp of hooves and the creaking wheels of a cart. Six pairs of red eyes focused on Upper Corlain until a human, a horse, and an unsprung cart slowly came into view on the path.

The human stopped briefly at the sight of them, taking a few hesitant steps closer as if it would help size them up. Then, she broke into a light jog.

The sound of creaking leather and the ominous scraping of armor reached her ears as her rangers tensed at the possible threat. Sylvanas did too, but maybe for different reasons. She could already see the human’s face. It was weary and just shy of gaunt, but her eyes were wide and her mouth was quirked into something that wasn’t quite a smile - poised on the edge of one, as if just waiting for something to grin at. It was… unsettling to be looked at like that. Sylvanas would have thought the woman had mistaken them for someone else if they weren’t so… unique.

She slowed to a stop a couple yards from them, huffing to catch her breath as she peered up at Sylvanas. “Well met! I haven’t seen any of you around here before. I’m Lucille Waycrest, what can I do for you?”

The rangers leaned away from her slightly, as if pushed back by the force of her sunny introduction. Sylvanas nearly reeled back as well. Of all the questions - commands, accusations - she had expected, ‘what can I do for you?’ was not one she’d been prepared to deal with.

Sylvanas scrambled to remember what she was supposed to do in this situation, now that the hostility she expected was suspiciously absent. Once she remembered that it was polite, Sylvanas hopped down from her horse and approached the girl. Her hand nearly extended on reflex, like she was greeting yet another human from Lordaeron, but she caught herself in time to simply tuck them behind her back. 

It was fortunate that she could no longer blush. It had been the bane of her existence when she still lived. The blood had rushed so easily to her face, her ears, that anyone could tell when she misspoke or fumbled.

“I am Sylvanas Windrunner.” She paused to consider Lucille’s question, but the girl didn’t seem to need much in the way of encouragement. 

“Oh! You’re the Lord Admiral’s wife, right?”

The title made her stomach turn and temper rise in equal measure. She caught Vorel grimacing out of the corner of her eye - as if she were already trying to calculate how to hide the body of someone so important, establishing alibis, contemplating the power vacuum. She was always thorough like that.

Lucille continued, looking her up and down. “Jaina never told me you were so tall.” She looked at the other rangers, head cocking slightly as she compared their relatively small statures to her lanky frame. “I thought the horde elves were always on the small side.”

“I am tall for an elf. It runs in my family.” She wanted to wince as soon as the words left her mouth. Why was she volunteering information to a stranger? If she were any more off balance, she’d be on the ground.

Lucille’s mouth finally decided to reveal its sunny smile. “I get it. I’m rather small for being drust. Joan always says it just makes me harder to shoot, so I suppose that’s nice. I can’t say I like getting shot - where are my manners? Esteemed guests shouldn’t be left out here. Come inside for some refreshments.”

Sylvanas had half a mind to refuse and be on her way. But, as she glanced back at her bowstring tense rangers, she could nearly taste the excitement rolling off of them. And, maybe she was a little curious as well. After all, what else did they have to do? They still had two weeks left in Kul Tiras, and Sylvanas wasn’t inclined to spend more of that time in Proudmoore Keep than she had to.

Lucille’s horse, a splotchy white and auburn draft horse, had finally managed to catch up with Lucille - only for her to dart away again. She leaned her shoulder into the gate as the rest of the rangers began to dismount, letting out a grunt as it began to slowly creak open. Clea, always the helpful sort, ambled over to give the gate a push. The hinges shrieked as it flew open, clanging against the fence hard enough to feel the vibrations in the soles of their boots. Lucille stumbled slightly, but gave Clea a grateful smile as she led them through the gates. 

The yard was rolling and uneven, with several gashes in the land that had the barest hint of regrowing vegetation. The path to the front door was newly washed, but there were runes carved into the stone - scuffed and scratched as though someone had scrubbed impotently at them. Sylvanas couldn’t feel any lingering magic in them. The house, on the other hand…

It positively reeked of death. Not in the aggressive, volatile way of spells. It pressed down on her as they drew near, a heavy blanket of energy that settled around her shoulders. It was familiar in the way that most death magic was to her, but unfamiliar in the listless, passive nature of it.

Before they reached the entrance, Lucille unhitched her mare with a pat and a few words of praise. It dutifully walked towards the stable - immaculate, compared to the sorry state of the house - leaning down to tear up a few tufts of grass to chew on as it went.

The door didn’t creak as Lucille pushed it open, despite how old it looked. As they crossed the threshold, a chill sank into Sylvanas’ skin, into her bones. She was surprised that Lucille’s words didn’t come out in clouds when she said, “Welcome to Waycrest Manor! You’ll have to forgive the state of the place, I’m still in the middle of renovations. They’re rather slow going, but the sitting room is finished.”

Sylvanas glanced at the peeling wallpaper and moth bitten rugs in the dull light of the foyer as Lucille herded them through as quickly as possible. Slow going indeed. Lordaeron Keep hadn’t looked this bad when they began rebuilding, and it had been mostly ruin.

Lucille was right about the sitting room, however. The furniture didn’t smell of mildew, nor the walls and floorboards of rot. The soft blue paint on the walls was a recent addition, if the lingering scent was anything to go by. The entire room had been refurbished. By an amerateur, no doubt, but thoroughly. It was warmer than what they’d walked through. Not only in the heat itself, but in the way the light of the setting sun didn’t tint blue through the clean windows.

The only thing that drove chill into Sylvanas’ veins were the walkways on the second story. It was the perfect vantage point to look down on the room - and though no one was up there, the feeling of eyes on her made the hair raise on the back of her neck.

Lucille rummaged through a cabinet until she came back to them with crackers and pieces of jerky on newly polished plates, serving one to each of them. “I know it’s not much, but I haven’t got to the kitchen quite yet. I only have things that keep well without an ice box.”

Sylvanas blinked down at the plate and promptly passed it to Anya, who passed hers down the line and so on - until Kalira had six plates and looked positively giddy about it. “That’s quite alright. It’s more hospitality than we’ve seen so far, and we don’t exactly need to eat.”

“That’s a shame. It takes so little effort to be polite.” Lucille watched their exchange with a curious smile. “Are these your… guards?”

They weren’t. Sylvanas didn’t have the words, or the want, to explain what her rangers were. Instead, she said, “Introduce yourselves.”

“Kalira.” Kalira said, mouth full.

“I’m Ranger Anya.”

“Clea.”

“Ranger Vorel.”

“I’m Alina.”

Lucille’s smile brightened even more, somehow. It was eerie. “It’s so nice to meet you all. What brings you to Drustvar?”

A campaign of spite against my wife.

“I’m simply touring my wife’s nation, becoming acquainted with the land and citizens.”

“How thoughtful.” She looked as though she had more to say, but the loud chime of a clock somewhere in the manor made her pallid face pale further. She whirled to stare at a small clock near the door. The pendulum was unmoving, the hands telling them it was at least two hours earlier. Lucille darted a look at the window, seeing that the last rays of the sun just barely curled their fingers over the horizon. Then, impressively, she paled even more.

“Is there a problem?” Sylvanas asked, brows raised.

“I-um. It’s not exactly wise to wander the halls when the sun goes down.” She took a deep breath, collecting herself. The smile she turned on them was much more forced than the previous ones. “It’s haunted. The manor. Which, I know is rather obvious - I mean, just look at the place - but they get rather… restless after sunset.”

She glanced between the six of them, her face too expressive for its own good. She had absolutely no idea what to do with them.

“Well, it’s much too late to be wandering around. I’ll show you to the guest rooms. I’m not sure if I have six of them ready - I don’t get much company, you see - but I’m sure we can figure something out.” She assured, ushering them to the other end of the room and down a long corridor.

Sylvanas carefully committed their route to memory. It would be far too easy to lose one’s way in these halls.

“Most would not invite more of the dead into a haunted manor.” Sylvanas drawled, watching Lucille’s increasingly frantic body language curiously. She’d never seen someone so dedicated to being a good host in the face of… something . She wasn’t sure what would happen when the sun disappeared over the horizon, but she doubted it was anything good. “We can be on our way.”

“Nonsense! It’s much too late to be wandering around.” She repeated, almost frantically, as she took them up a flight of stairs. “Dead or not, it would be remiss of me to not offer you a place to rest.”

Sylvanas’ curiosity only grew. “Then, one room will do.”

Lucille shot her a relieved look, stopping in front of one of the doors.

“Here we are. It’s not renovated yet, but it’s clean and cozy.” She opened the door to a large room painted in deep blues and bright golds. It looked almost like one of the dorms in Silvermoon, before the fall, if a lot less opulent. It came complete with a desk, a large bed, and a small sitting area in front of a hearth that looked like it hadn’t seen much use this century. Sylvanas found herself pleased, almost against her will.

“This will do.” At the words, her rangers flooded the room to look over everything. They checked corners and cushions, even under the bed, for traps or spells.

Lucille watched them for a moment, before her eyes flicked up to the massive window that framed the bed with palpable dread. “I’m sorry for being so brief, but I really must get to my room. I promise I’ll give the grand tour, come morning. Goodnight, Lady Windrunner.”

With that, she turned on her heel and fled down the hall, just slowly enough that it could be described as walking if one were being particularly lenient. Sylvanas watched her go until she turned the corner, wondering when whatever was going to happen was… going to happen. 

She didn’t have to wait very long.

 Lucille hadn’t been gone for a full minute before a loud yelp and a strange hiss echoed through the halls. Sylvanas had her bow drawn and aimed at the end of the hall in an instant, her rangers darting into the hall behind her. Her ears twitched at the sound of thumping footsteps frantically retracing Lucille’s path. Whatever was chasing her had no footsteps of its own.

The girl flew around the corner, stumbling and nearly slamming into the wall before she managed to get her feet under her and launch herself down the hall towards them. As her wide, panicked eyes found them, she tried to stop. Unfortunately, with how much momentum she had, the rug slipped and scrunched up beneath her feet and she landed on her back with a loud ‘oof’.

Sylvanas paid her no mind, waiting.

She could see it coming before it arrived. The flames from the lanterns dimmed and shrank, struggling to stay lit. The air grew even colder.

When it finally rounded the corner, it did so sharply enough that a ghostly shoulder phased through the wall. The sight of a woman in a tattered dress gave her pause but… no, it wasn’t a banshee. The bat-like quality of her face and the way she sighed rather than wailed assured her of that. She let the arrow soar and hit its mark in the side of her chest.

Hateful eyes caught Sylvanas for a moment before she let out a weak hiss and crumbled to a pile of ashes on the scuffed, wooden floor.

“Are you injured?” Sylvanas asked, lowering her bow and watching Lucille slowly sit up. She oozed the sharp scent of fear and blood.

“She clawed me up a little, but nothing too bad.” Lucille stared for a long moment at the remains of the ghost before turning her gaze on Sylvanas. This was her most forced smile yet. “Great aunt Martha was always a bit volatile.”

Sylvanas couldn’t hold back her grimace. She very suddenly had several questions, but doubted any of them were appropriate to ask now. Ghost or not, she doubted that killing Lucille’s great aunt would ingratiate them to her. But what was she supposed to do? Let her get mauled?

“I… regret having to kill her.”

Lucille blew a sharp huff of air out of her nose - half amusement, half stress. It was a surprise she was as calm as she was. It only made Sylvanas wonder how long things had been like this.

“It couldn’t be helped. I wouldn’t begrudge a guest for defending themself.” Even her fake smile fell as her eyes dropped. “Please don’t be afraid, though - I promise they’re only after me. They used to be a lot more peaceful before… Well, all of that mess with Gorak Tul and the Heartsbane.”

“I’m not afraid.” Sylvanas said simply. She made a subtle motion behind her back and Alina stepped around her to help Lucille to her feet and inspect the bloody gashes on her forearm. “They pose no threat to us.”

Lucille’s shoulders relaxed slightly, a bit of her usual pep coming back. Sylvanas wasn’t entirely sure that was a good thing.

“Thank the Tidemother.” She gave Sylvanas a tiny smile, “Rather, thank you . You lot are the first in a long time that have wanted to step foot in here. I couldn’t even get contractors to help me with the renovations, no matter how much money I offered.”

That certainly explained the lack of skill in them. Explained why she had to carry all her supplies in with her lone horse and small cart. Why she seemed to be so fond of a pack of banshees staying in her home.

“They’ll be okay if you keep them clean. But I would suggest you see a healer, just in case.” Alina’s voice was soft, almost coaxing. Sylvanas was suddenly glad she’d brought her rangers with her.

Lucille flashed her a smile, “Thank you, Alina.”

“I’ll escort you back to your room.” Sylvanas decided, “I would rather our host not perish at the hands of the undead. I’m sure you can understand how suspicious that would look with us around.”

“When you put it like that, it’s hard to decline.” She laughed softly.

“Good.” She started down the hall, not bothering to put her bow away.

They were silent for most of the walk, the only sound being the clomp of Lucille’s boots. She stepped rather heavily for someone living in a haunted house.

Sylvanas chewed on a thought, deciding whether or not she should voice it. In the end, she said, “There are a few Forsaken contractors in Lordaeron. Since you seem to have a tolerance for the undead, I can send them here when I return.” Even with the open borders, a lot of her civilians struggled to find work outside of Lordaeron and the Undercity. And ghosts certainly didn’t bother them.

Lucille seemed to startle out of her own thoughts, blinking up at Sylvanas. “You’d do that?”

“Yes.” She said, trying to force a few ounces of frost into her voice. The way she looked up at Sylvanas, like she was doing her some grand favor, was uncomfortable. “Assuming you can pay for it and assure their safety.”

“Money is no issue.” She assured quickly, “And I can promise no harm will come to them in this house.”

She knew which door was Lucille’s before they’d even stopped. There was a shaky looking rune written in blood on the ground before it and a line of salt making a small arch around the doorway.

“Thank you, Lady Windrunner.” Lucille said. It was strange, seeing as their trip was quiet enough that an escort wasn’t even necessary.

Still, Sylvanas tried to be polite. She was the only person in Kul Tiras that hadn’t eyed her with hatred or mistrust. She looked at her like any other visiting noble. As strange as she was - as strange as all of this was - that was refreshing.

“You’re welcome. Goodnight, Lady Waycrest.”

“She’s crazy!” Sylvanas heard the moment she opened the door to the room they’d been given.

Anya was sitting on the floor, motioning emphatically to Alina. Clea had found her way to the windowsill, a pile of wood shavings at her feet as she carved her latest creation. Kalira was still nibbling on her pile of jerky as Vorel hastily scribbled something beside her in front of the newly lit hearth.

Alina glanced up at Sylvanas, but quickly turned back to her conversation. It made her shoulders relax a fraction. They knew she didn’t prefer the pomp and bowing in private, knew that it set her at ease to not be tiptoed around when it was just them. Sylvanas found her own spot on the bed, leaning back against the headboard to listen to whatever they were arguing about now.

“Well, you’ve got to be a little crazy when you live in a haunted house. Maybe more so when your minn’da starts a cult.” Alina reasoned.

“You have a point.” Anya allowed, “But you don’t see a pack of banshees haunting your front gates and just invite them in for tea.”

“It wasn’t tea.” Kalira chimed in.

Anya sighed, “You know what I mean.”

“She seems to be taking it well, though.” Clea murmured distractedly, squinting at the little block of wood in her hands.

“‘Well’ is relative. She looks like she hasn’t slept a day in her life.”

Vorel frowned down at her papers, “She’d probably be able to sleep if she actually had some staff in here. It’s impossible for a single person to manage the upkeep of an entire manor, not to mention the renovations . You saw that sitting room - I’m surprised I didn’t get a nail through my boot when we walked through. She’s doing all this without any help.”

Alina, bless her bleeding heart, quietly said, “ We could help.”

They all fell silent, eyes finding Sylvanas. She held back a sigh. 

It should have been obvious that this would happen. Rangers were trained from day one to always keep busy, to always have something to do. After two weeks of mind numbing boredom, trying to get an entire manor in working order must seem like the project of a lifetime. 

“Why would we do that?” She wanted to sneer it, be sarcastic and biting. The amount of genuine curiosity that came out of her own mouth took her off guard. As all five of them perked up, Sylvanas prepared herself for the gauntlet.

“She could be a valuable ally.” Alina shot out, words rushed. “To have an ally in Lady Proudmoore’s home, right under her nose, would be extremely beneficial.”

“It may also be useless. Expecting her to choose me over her Lord Admiral, should I call on her, would be precarious at best and fatal at worst.” She said, folding her arms over her chest.

“You’ve got to admit, it’d be a power move.” Clea drawled, trying to look disinterested. Failing, but trying nonetheless. “Putting in the work while those cowards hide in town. They’ll look like ungrateful louts while we help their dear Lady.”

“Spiteful.” Sylvanas purred approvingly. “But that could also backfire; Cause more hostility with the citizens. I’d rather not have any angry mobs in our future.”

Vorel turned her papers around, showing Sylvanas the rough set of maps she’d been working on since they’d set foot in Kul Tiras. She was never one to trust a set she didn’t make herself. “It will give us more time to survey the area without it seeming too suspicious.”

“Everything we do looks suspicious.” Sylvanas pointed out. “We could be playing with puppies and someone would accuse us of raising felhounds.”

“Yes, but it’s still a solid alibi with a witness.”

“A witness that can quickly be discredited as ‘corrupted’. Then we’ll have a whole other witch hunt on our hands.”

“The Jerky is good.” Kalira offered, ignoring the exasperated looks she got from the others.

“I would assume it’s better in Proudmoore Keep.” Sylvanas said, a smile twitching at the corner of her lips.

“Belore take you, Sylvanas! We’re bored!” Anya whined, glaring up at her. “You know damn well that we’re going crazy, and we know you are too! Stop yanking us around!”

“ Fine.” She finally laughed, “But you’re not to meddle with the renovations. I already have a mind to send some Forsaken contractors when we’re back in Lordaeron. And be nice, I don’t want Jaina to come after me about complaints from her nobles.”

That wasn’t entirely true, but she doubted it was wise to enjoy fighting with her wife.

“She lives in a house with ghosts that are actively trying to kill her, without complaint.” Anya groaned, levering herself off the ground and brushing some of the dust off her pants. “She’ll probably send you a gift basket for murdering her aunt’s ghost.”

“It wasn’t murder. It was self defense.” She huffed, “Just don’t cause too much trouble.”

The grins they gave her were not soothing in the slightest.

The night was productive. Well, as productive as a spur of the moment diversion could be.

While her rangers had set upon the house with the sort of ferocity that only a bunch of fatally bored workaholics could manage, she’d gone out to hunt something a little more substantial than jerky. She’d only remembered after she’d hunted down one of those awful cursed deer, that humans weren’t the type to live off of nothing but venison and had made a few stops by the local farms. She doubted that they’d sell her anything, let alone open their doors if she knocked, so she left a few gold on their doorsteps for the supplies. Better to ask forgiveness, and all that.

Hopefully, a good meal would help soothe any feathers ruffled by the hostile takeover enough that she wouldn’t have to deal with Jaina cursing at her when she got back. She bore it up to Lucille’s room on a newly washed platter, stopping just outside the line of salt.

Before she could knock on the door, a sharp chill ran down her back. Something was watching her.

The spirit wasn’t being particularly stealthy. It stood at the end of the hall, simply staring.

Sylvanas stared back. 

Her form was too translucent to determine the color of her hair, only that it fell over her shoulders in a limp, tangled heap. The nightgown she wore was plain and her feet were bare. She looked to be about as old as Lucille when she died, cheeks still round with youth. Though the blank expression and solemn eyes let on that she’d been dead for a very long time.

“Hello.” Sylvanas said softly. No matter how violent they were at night, she could not bring herself to speak harshly to a spirit trapped here.

The ghost only blinked at her slowly, then turned and walked through the wall.

Sylvanas stared after her for a moment, curious and unsettled. Spirits didn’t usually show themselves unless they were motivated by something. She didn’t know what this one had hoped to accomplish by showing herself to Sylvanas.

She shook it off and rapped briskly on the door. There would be time to wonder later.

When the door swung open, Lucille gazed up at her with bleary eyes, somehow looking even worse than she had the day before. She was still in the same clothes, like she’d just fallen into bed the moment she’d reached her room, and her hair hung in tangled locks around her shoulders.

“Good morning, Lady Windrunner.” She croaked. How she managed to be polite in this state, Sylvanas had no idea. “What can I do for you?”

Sylvanas held the platter out to her, waiting for her to hesitantly take it before she spoke. “Eat that. When you’re presentable, we need to talk.”

“Nothing good ever comes from that phrase.” She muttered, cringing.

Sylvanas paused. Lucille was right - she needed to change her approach from demanding to something a little more diplomatic. “I don’t think it’s necessarily bad. Perhaps just… strange, all things considered.”

Lucille searched her face for a moment before giving her a tired smile. “Well, as long as no one has died, I suppose it can’t be that bad.”

“A bit too late for that, don’t you think?” She wanted to grimace at the way the joke jumped out, but kept her face stony.

Lucille snorted, “Well, died again.”

“We’re all still undead.” She assured.

“Alright.” Lucille already seemed to be regaining her infallible cheer. “I’ll be down quickly.”

This time, she couldn’t contain the slight smirk at the corner of her mouth. “I’d prefer it if you took your time. You choking on your food would ruin the effort of keeping everyone from dying.”

“Then, I’ll be down in a reasonable amount of time.”

“Better.”

Sylvanas waited on the steps of the foyer. Banshee Queen or not, she knew better than to walk all over freshly mopped floors. 

The room already seemed… lighter. The thick dust coating every surface had been banished and the blue spell residue had been scrubbed from the windows, allowing the sun to shine unfettered throughout the room. While the smell of cleaning fluids still hung in the air thickly enough for her to wrinkle her nose, it was better than the smell of dust and stale air.

Footsteps thudded down the hall, stopping abruptly at the top of the stairs. She waited for the girl to say something, but Lucille stayed silent. Maybe she’d get that complaint after all.

Lucille stepped down the stairs, passing Sylvanas to stand on the bottom step. She looked a bit more put together, changed and washed, but she still wore her exhaustion in the set of her shoulders.

Finally, she looked back at Sylvanas, eyes wide. “What… what is this?”

“It’s a foyer.” Sylvanas drawled.

Lucille tried to scowl. The expression was anything but natural on her face, ruined entirely by the tiny smile at the corner of her mouth. “I know that, Lady Windrunner. I’m wondering why it actually looks like one, instead of a dusty tomb.”

Sylvanas had thought of how to word it - agonized over it, really. She didn’t want complaints about her new project, but she didn’t want the girl to think she’d done her some great service. Both would get back to Jaina, and she would rather her darling wife stay out of her damn business.

Oddly enough, the truth seemed to be the best answer. Or, part of it.

“We were bored.” She shrugged, “We don’t sleep and we had no desire to further explore your… charming country.”

“So you… cleaned my entire foyer overnight?”

“Yes.”

Lucille blinked slowly. Her mouth opened, but closed without uttering a single sound.

“There is bad news.” Sylvanas assured, “You’ll need to go back to town for more supplies. We used most of what you had in here, and the rest on the kitchen. We couldn’t prepare food in that mess.”

Lucille perked up, finally finding something to bite on, “Where did you get all that food for breakfast? I haven’t eaten like that in-”

“I have my ways.” Sylvanas swiftly rose to her feet, not eager to explain her methods. “I would suggest you go quickly - the list is lengthy. The floor should be dry by now.”

But Lucille didn’t move. She gave Sylvanas a soft, sincere smile that made her cold flesh crawl. “Thank you for all this. Really. Bored or not, it… it means a lot to me.”

Sylvanas clenched her teeth, trying not to scowl. “You won’t be so thankful when you see the list. You’ll most likely be making several trips. Alone, of course. The locals aren’t fond of us.

“Now be on your way. We have work to do.”