Pinkett's Realm, Short Story for Syndra.

A tale of happiness was not for me, I sought to free my power and all I achieved was true sorrow. The world was blood red on the day that a woman with raven hair floated above a destroyed village. She did not destroy this village, but her power was. These people treated her like a friend, a comrade, and they were slain in a conquest to control her power.

The bodies of the monks that had sought to capture her lay shattered, ruined, beneath spheres of dark matter.

_Foolish mortals, they do not know the true power of the unbound. _

A body of a child, lay where the debris unleashed during Syndra’s conflict with the monks rained down upon her. Alas, the woman felt no sorrow for the death of the child. Just a yearning in her soul for the man that was the reason she was even here.

A man that promised her something that, in her younger years she had not sought. Love? Yes, that was it. That feeling that filled her with a joy so different from the one she feels from unleashing her power.

_Ral? _

Syndra floats through the destroyed town, ignoring the screams of villagers, monks, suffering. Then she finally reaches the small, flimsy shack that he had brought her too. So far from her home. It was completely destroyed, the first part of the conflict began here.

After searching for hours, her frustration mounted, Syndra simply started using her powers to destroy entire houses, slinging the wood, stone, brick, and even living and dead bodies of those in the village into the distance. But, the man was nowhere to be seen, and after the last building that she could see was razed. She simply drifted into the sky, flying slowly for her home, mourning the loss of something she almost could have had.