Rivannah Fallowsun

In Treatment

Rivannah sauntered into the room, approaching the check-in desk with the hood of her cloak securely raised. Given the lateness of the hour, her effort was somewhat wasted as she seemed to be the only visitor. The young orc at the counter–dark hair held back in short pig-tails, covered in tattoos and gum-smacking as she organized papers and files–peered up momentarily with a bland expression.

“Greetings ma’am,” she said quickly in Orcish. “Sign in here please and take a seat.” She tapped the clipboard and gestured toward the waiting area full of chairs. “Someone will be with you shortly.” At that she went back to her paperwork.

Rivannah noted the runic tattoos on the orc girl’s neck, revealed more clearly as she bent over her work. They seemed oddly familiar. Shrugging, she did as she was bid, taking up the quill to add her name to the list of blacked out lines of those who had come before her. She nearly wrote her secret name…or was it her real name? Rivannah couldn’t remember anymore, having lived more lives than was right for anyone to. In the end, she scribbled out ‘R. Fallowsun’. That would do.

As she moved away from the counter, but before she could take a seat, the door across the room opened and her name was called by a tall Sin’dorei woman in a black dress with long brown hair falling freely about her shoulders. “Miss Fallowsun?” she called out in thickly-accented Orcish. As the words left the lips of her summoner, something caught the corner of Rivannah’s eye: her signature on the clipboard surged with her trademark indigo light and then blackened like soot, lost to the gaze of others to come after her. Her lips pursed in amusement as she moved toward the door. A magical sign in sheet. Very clever!

Led down a length of hallway, the office was eerily quiet, save for the faint jangle of keys which dangled from a cord about the woman’s waist. Rivannah sensed the tingles of magic lining each closed door they passed. As if sensing her curiosity, the woman she followed behind glanced over her shoulder, her hazelnut locks undulating with the movement. Shifting to Thalassian, she explained quietly. “We utilize the latest in both Gnomish dampening technology and silencing magicks to ensure our clients have the utmost in privacy.”

In short order, they reached their destination. “Ah, here we are.” Opening the door with what appeared to be a key made of iron, the secretary nodded into a dim room which contained a desk, a couch, a few chairs, and bookcase. “Please, make yourself comfortable. You will notice we have libations: Dalaran red, Mulgore firewater, Alterac spring water, Moonberry juice, and a few snacks. We can also heat up water for coffee or tea if you like. Avail yourself of whatever you like. Your therapist will be with you in just a bit.”

Rivannah found she didn’t want the woman to leave; she had such a beguiling presence. The quiet grace with which she moved, soothing alto voice, the dress black as night, and that long shimmering hair. And those keys! The power they represented and where did they lead… With a knowing smile however, the mystery woman ushered her in and closed the door.

Just as she had said, a silver filigreed bar cart was stationed in the back of room, decorated with a myriad of colored liquids in bottles. The flickering arcane flames of the wall scones glimmered on the glass, giving the wine which caught Rivannah’s eye a rich ruby cast. Taking up a beveled stemmed glass, her nails clinking against the crystal, she poured as she glanced about the room. The walls had a bluish tint. The couch seemed firm but plush, beige with a sheen, so probably velvet; while the wood in the room was dark, like chocolate. She supposed it was to have a calming effect upon visitors, and while it wasn’t her personal taste, she appreciated the effort.

The door opened again as she was taking her first sip of wine and making her way to the bookcase. “Hello! Sorry I’m a few minutes late.” A Sin’dorei female wearing a dun skirt suit and a bun strode into the room, dumping a stack of files on the desk. Her voice was as crisp as her Thalassian as she continued, arranging the files into neat piles. “We had a bit of an emergency with a dissociative Illidari client earlier, which was still being resolved when you arrived. I’m sure you can appreciate the delicacy with which that particular situation needed to be dealt with.”

Rivannah stood still, her billowing cloak like a dark shield about her form, willing the wine to soothe her suddenly ruffled feathers. Where was the woman in black with the long hair and the pleasing smile? Who was this thin woman, all angular edges and cat-eye glasses, whose outfit matched her couch?

Satisfied with the state of her desk, the woman yanked upon her blazer to smooth it out and adjusted her glasses upon her nose. Her green eyes dimly shone in the half-light of the office. “Now then. My name is Ameryl. I’ll be working with you today, and I’m very pleased to meet you, Miss Fallowsun.” Taking a few steps forward, she held out her hand for Rivannah to shake.

Rivannah debated a long moment whether to respond to the gesture. This woman irked her already. Why had she even come here? Maybe this was a mistake. And there this stranger stood, waiting, her hand outstretched, who would be asking her questions and hearing her secrets. Rivannah was she who commanded, not she who was commanded! However, if she wished to reclaim what she was lacking, what was scrambled up inside and made her constantly stave off her darkest thoughts, she needed to at least try… And so finally with a sigh she ghosted forward to take the woman’s hand with a too-firm handshake in return, her nails digging slightly into the other woman’s flesh. To her credit, Ameryl didn’t react save for a small smile of the utmost professionalism. “Please, take a seat.”

Peering down the bridge of her nose through her glasses into a stack of papers, Ameryl began. “I see that you’re here for individual counseling. You listed your profession as Nethermancer and scribe, and requested an arcane practitioner, preferably male.” Ameryl glanced up, attempting to make eye contact with Rivannah through the shadows of her hood. “I’m sorry that we have no therapists meeting that description currently available. I hope that you’ll be able to give me a chance.” Pausing for a reaction, she got none; and thus continued. “I suppose I should summarize the consent for treatment and my theoretical background.”

At that point, Rivannah was only half-listening. Something about ‘former priestess’ caught her attention, but then only peripherally. Since she hadn’t gotten what she wanted in a therapist, she was unsure if she would return. Taking another sip as Ameryl droned on, it occurred to Rivannah that she used to drink this particular wine often, in what she affectionately referred to as her ‘former life’. The Magister had had casks of it in his study, and a fleeting image of one of the first times her demonic transformation had been coaxed out of her intentionally arose unbidden in her mind.

“…Alright?” Blinking, Rivannah snapped back to the present and nodded absently, thankful for the confines of the hood which hid her vexed expression. “Since you already signed the consent forms, this review was merely a formality. Let’s continue. But first…” She leaned down to fetch something beneath her desk. “Would you like some skethyl berries and cheese?” Ameryl murmured the question almost conspiratorially. “I always keep a fresh batch behind my desk. I can’t stand those crackers they leave in the rooms. They’re so very dry by themselves.”

Rivannah smirked, reaching up to slowly lower her hood as her face smoothed into a practiced neutral state. Taking a long sip of wine, she waited just long enough for her silence to hopefully discomfit the woman. Finally, she spoke for the first time in a long time. Her voice had a raspy edge that startled even herself. “Maybe that’s what gets your clients to drink, and thus open up more.”

“Ah, well! Perhaps so!” Her tone was annoyingly warm. “Welcome to the session, Miss Fallowsun.” Plopping the basket of berries upon the desk–their familiar sweetly sour scent causing Rivannah to wrinkle her nose with another assault of memories–Ameryl leaned back in her chair and smiled.  “I do look forward to working with you indeed.”