"The child requires some sort of divine intervention," said Matron Nightingale.
"I would say," Shellene responded thoughtfully, "she has already had one."
"Aye, the child is blessed," said High Priestess Laurena.
"Or cursed, I would contend," Matron Nightingale retorted sharply. "Regardless, she must go."
Khæli sat on the wooden bench outside the room while the orphanage council decided her fate. With a look on her face of combined fury and frustration, Khæli kicked at the floor and swore to herself this would be the last time someone dictated her future. First her family, then Jayale, who'd so kindly stepped in as her guardian — killed. It was Jayale's death as the two of them had journeyed to Stormwind that landed Khæli here at the orphanage.
"Humans," spat Khæli.
"Khæli," barked the Matron, "come in here."
Khæli paused before entering the room and contemplating just bolting. But the questions she perpetually asked herself stopped her from doing so: Where would she go? How would she survive? She had only minimal sewing skills, and although she knew she could muster some magic, she could hardly wield it. With a heavy sigh, a hard swallow, and a promise to herself "no more," she stood before the orphanage council, ready to hear their proclamation. For the first time in recent memory, Khæli's heart sang when she heard their words:
"Khæli, you will return to Darnassus."