Somewhere in the darkest alleys of Orgrimmar, a mouse let out a terrified screech, and was silenced as its head was bitten off. The killer, a stalking cat, melted perfectly into the shadows as it traveled in search of more prey, luminescent amber eyes perhaps the only sign of her presence. An angry flick of her long tail, and she pounced, mauling whatever it was that she had caught, and mauling it into a bloody smear against the hut. The sound of clinking armor nearby made the shadow of a cat dart off into a streak from the alleyway, startling the Orgrimmar guard as it ran past. The orc cursed beneath his breath, eyeing the darting figure like a bad omen.
"Trouble", as she was so named, struggled to separate animal instinct from her very human thoughts, trying to remember what she was doing, and dampen the lure of chasing mice. Padding silently through the Valley of Spirits, Trouble's long black tail signaled her anxiety as it flicked back and forth behind her. It had been a dirty, dirty trick, what the Death Knight, Lyria Dhuna had done to her. It was a fitting form tonight, unbeknownst to Annaliese, however. Considering her deception on the matter of the death knight--befriending her, luring her, and then sending Lady Lyria into a realm of eternal Nightmare conceived from the reflected fears of her victims--the plan had been an all out success, though not without its surprises and twists.
In all reality, Annaliese had hoped the best for the Death Knight. She had allowed herself the hope that perhaps Ms. Dhuna could be redeemed, returned to society. No more lives wasted, transgressions forgiven. The candle she had prepared was only a precaution, really, even though its intent was indeed malefic. And the preparation had been time consuming…expensive: the Faceless One's bodies were irritatingly hard to work into the candle, though she only had a tentacle to work with in the first place. She wanted the Death Knight to know fear, certainly. Perhaps this would have humbled her in the end?
Being turned into a cat and held by the madwoman as a "toy" changed Annaliese's perspective on the matter all too quickly. The warlock inside of her had bristled with grim satisfaction, watching Lyriah twitch in her tormented sleep, knowing what she was seeing. Annaliese had wanted this to go on forever, knowing what Lyriah had done---done to her, humiliating her like so. It had been a pity the torment was not allowed to continue--the others were greedy for their own senses of vengeance or justice, and picked apart the death knight's body like a corpse upon an apothecary's slab. She had at least retrieved the soul for herself. It would have been a lovely gift in compensation to her husband, for the trouble she put him through.
Even the death knight's soul did not appease him, as Anna found out. How foolish she had been to bring back the magical powder with her-- she knew the Medic was angry already. She took her punishment harshly now, and the desire for soul shards was strong in her--relayed as a lust for hunting, in the instinct of this cat form her own husband doomed her to for the night, once again. Tired with her ordeal, though, the cat made her way back to the owner that abandoned her, as attached pets often do. Trouble curled up next to the body in the hut, and let out a soft, sad mew to the sleeping Medic. Finding him unresponsive to her nuzzles, she paced a few circles on the thick bearskin rug, before curling up around herself, alone.
Trouble dreamed of relief from her punishment. And a warm saucer of milk.
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