Enna had always liked raging. It was easy to let the anger overtake her, pouring out of a well behind her heart until it filled her from the soles of her feet to the tips of her horns. She could float above her body, watching from a place far removed from her actions, as the rage drove her through the battle. When it had carried her through every obstacle, it would subside, bringing her back into control. That was the part she liked the least- the anger draining out of her, forcing her to think about every step she took and every memory she didn’t want.
When she was in it, though, it was perfect. No doubts, no concerns, just the battle and the axe and the warm spray of blood on her face. So she welcomed the opportunity to rage in the dark dungeon they’d stumbled into. Anything to keep her mind off that creepy chanting or the nagging thought that there was no guarantee they’d find their way back out of the place. She raged so quickly that she didn’t even notice who her opponents were. All she registered through the red haze over her vision was what was relevant to her. A short rogue who darted behind a pillar as soon as she manifested. A tall human who turned into a bat and flew on top of a pillar. Shambling zombies, their skin burnt to a crisp. Shadowy elementals that she could barely see in the darkness. A man in shining armor, helmetless, white-haired. And a tall human man, wearing heavy armor and swinging a sword. Nothing she couldn’t handle.
She was right, of course. Her axe sliced neatly through the zombies even as one of them broke its arm on her breastplate trying to get at her. A shadowy panther was an unwelcome surprise, but she threw it off of her and demolished it. The rogue failed to dodge her strike, and Enna sent her head flying right at Barrun. The tall man approached her, but she stepped out of the way of his sword. She hit his head with the handle of her axe, throwing him off his balance and allowing her to strike him in the shoulder of his sword arm. He cried out and she pressed the advantage, whirling her axe around and slicing across his neck. His cries turned to gurgles as he drowned on his own blood and fell to the floor. From him, her attention turned to the white-haired man, and she didn’t think about him again until the battle was over.
Then, as they always did, the battle ended. Then, as it always did, the anger drained from her, and she returned to herself. She took a deep breath, looking around the battlefield, checking for more dangers. She found none, but her eyes swept over a fallen form, lying faceup on the stone floor of the room. His face was covered in his own blood, but as she approached, she saw the curve of his breastplate, the way his left hand curled inwards around an old scar, the belt buckle he’d always bragged about stealing off a merchant’s wagon. She recoiled, but her feet kept marching forward. Her hands reached down to turn his shaven head towards her even as she screamed inside her skull to run away, to do anything but this, anything but look Rodinus in the face. His tongue lolled out of his mouth and his dead eyes stared into hers before bursting into black smoke. Enna all but scrambled backwards, turning on her heel and focusing herself resolutely on what her companions were doing. Emiel was prodding at a gleaming suit of armor with a foot, frowning down at it, so she went over to join them and pushed the incident to the back of her mind.
It didn’t stay there, though. Not like most things did. That night, after they made it back to Trailsend, she had the dream again. She was eighteen again, and Rodinus was mad at her for something. She hadn’t had it for over a year, but the feelings felt as familiar as they did before- shame, guilt, fear, regret, and above all, a feeling that she hadn’t had in years. Something that made her fall to her knees in front of him, beg him to forgive her, stretch out a hand to him as he shook his head, as he dropped his voice from a shout to a whisper, as he told her that she had disappointed him for the last time, as he raised his sword. She knew how this dream ended. Rodinus would bring his sword down, slicing across her chest, opening her up from sternum to stomach. She would topple forward, agony screaming in every nerve, and he would kick her to the ground, laughing as she bled out in the dust. This time, though, it was different. Without her directing them, her hands went to the axe at her back, already engulfed in flames. Her legs brought her forward as her arms swung her axe to stop the arc of Rodinus’ blade. The handle of her axe bashed him in the skull as she screamed and screamed. Hot tears rolled down her face as her blade sliced open his throat. Rodinus locked eyes with her and lurched forward, his arms splayed open in a hideous parody of an embrace. She woke up before he reached her.
Enna stared at the wall of her room until the sun rose. She didn’t think anything for those predawn hours, just let her mind fill with the sound of her own heartbeat. There was nothing in the well behind her heart. There was nothing in her heart at all.
Author's Notes:
Man, I really put Enna through it. The answer to "Enna isn't a very angry person, so what's raging like for her?" is "She's disassociating the whole time." To be fair, I was also extremely going through it at the time. This takes place during/after a fight in the campaign where our DM brought mirror versions of people from our characters' pasts to come fight us, so Enna got Rodinus, her first boyfriend. Their relationship was suuuuuper normal. Written 8/4/17.