"Pain is data," she explains while working. "Fear provides leverage. Suffering creates opportunities for behavioral modification. Why would I abandon useful tools because of sentimental attachment to outdated moral frameworks?"
In the dream, her teeth have been filed to points. Her fingers end in claws that part flesh with surgical precision. Her eyes reflect light like polished stone, beautiful and completely empty of recognition when she looks at me.
"You could become like me," she offers with sisterly affection. "Let go of weakness disguised as virtue. Embrace practical solutions. Discover how much stronger you become when conscience stops limiting effectiveness."
I try to run but find myself frozen, watching as she turns back to her work with renewed focus. The knife moves with artisticgrace, each cut deliberate, each incision calculated to achieve specific psychological impact.
When I finally wake, gasping and cold despite dying fire's warmth, uncertainty floods through me like poison.
Was it nightmare born of paranoid fear? Or preview of transformation already begun?
Across our camp, Elira sleeps peacefully beside Kaerith, her face serene in firelight that makes shadows dance like living things. Beautiful. Familiar. Completely terrifying in ways I can't articulate.
I watch her breathing, looking for signs that might distinguish dream from reality, vision from memory. But her features reveal nothing except perfect calm of someone who's found peace through accepting necessary evolution.
Tomorrow brings closer contact with Malakor's stronghold. Tomorrow we gather intelligence that will guide whatever action they're planning in whispered conferences that exclude us.
Tomorrow I discover whether my sister still exists beneath the efficient killer who's taken her place.
The uncertainty keeps me awake until dawn, staring at familiar face that might already belong to stranger.
