sagecyclone
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She has been blind for hours. Deaf for longer. Her world has narrowed to rope and skin and the ache between her thighs that two days of denial have turned into something holy. She belongs to the Dark Lady. To the Squad. She has given herself so completely that there is nothing left to hide.
Except one thing. One want she buried so deep it only surfaces when she's too far gone to stop it. A name. Hands she has imagined on her body for twenty years.
Her Queen heard it. Her Queen remembers. And her Queen has never been above using a secret to destroy her in the most beautiful way possible.
"Who else do you want?"
She knows. Oh gods, she knows. It's wrong. It's her sister. It's her best friend. If she says it, everything changes. If she says it, they'll see what she really is. Please. Please don't make her say it.
Silence.
"Answer me, Jaina."
Her chin dropped to her chest. The name left her on a breath so faint it was less than a whisper — a confession shaped from shame and guilt and years of desperate, aching want:
"Vereesa."
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Alleria is tired. Three days of war, an empty ruin in the Ghostlands, and the only voice that comes for her in the dark is the one she should never answer.
But Xal'atath doesn't need Alleria to answer. She just needs her to stop fighting.
Tonight, Alleria breaks — and Xal'atath takes everything.
"You are mine."
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Summary
Heavily canon-divergent AU.
Exiled to Drustvar and trained by Thornspeakers, Jaina is flung out of Thros when a final battle goes awry—into a dead city where a relentless spirit offers a pact: rescue her family and avenge her people, and she’ll return the favor. From burned groves to winter crowns to Drustvar’s bramble, they'll learn trust the long way round—hopefully.
Slow burn; grief, magic, eventual romance, & found family.