She runs across the open moor with her hair flying wildly behind her. Lithe yet purposeful, there is a primal sensuality in her murderous power. She is being pursued; and a young girl, hidden from sight, watches in awe as the woman spins in a cloud of skirts and hair, lifts her orb above her head, bows, and kills all the monsters in the clearing with one foul blow.
The monsters were an inconvenience, mostly. The impact of their thudding sideswipes and shooting darts did minimal damage to her life (if they even managed to catch her) and regardless, it replenished instantaneously. But they were irritating in their persistence, and besides, she had to think about the rest of the team.
The Barbarian was most vulnerable. He was a level 20 and was slowing them down. Whoever was commanding him wasn’t dexterous enough with their mouse—they were leading him astray and distracting the Sorceress from her task. Even the Necromancer was more useful, and that’s saying something. The young girl sighs; she hopes rushing these fools will be worth it when Mephisto drops his load.
And so the young girl spent the majority of her after school hours—and so the Sorceress got stronger and stronger. It wasn’t her first Sorc—she had distributed the skill points haphazardly on her first Sorc, and even at level 99 she hadn’t been formidable enough. But this Sorc—the new one—she was a masterpiece, the young girl’s Sistine Chapel. She was unbeatable, even in Hell Cows, and had some amazing rarities in her inventory.
Sometimes, yes, every now and then, the young girl would hate her Sorceress. As proud as she was of her creation (she’d battle her boyfriend’s 99 Barb online and often times she’d win, despite his superiority to her in knowledge of the game), she sometimes wished she were at the mall with the cool girls, shoplifting lipsticks from cosmetics counters and flirting with football players. We all want these things sometimes, she’d say to herself, but where would we be if we all had all the things we wanted sometimes, when wanting is so fleeting?
So she curated her Sorc to near perfection, and she imagined the gaping mouths of her gamer friends when she blazed trails for them through the various levels of Diablo II with the ease of a diety. She reveled in the deaths of all the monsters plaguing upon the earth, the wonderful treasures she withdrew from the loins of battle and the romance of magic and fantastical violence.
Now, grown older (but not bigger or taller) the young girl occasionally pangs for her Sorceress. From the intoxicating thrill of gaming, the way she used to lose herself entirely in the frenzy of fantasy—Diablo II had been a hoot. It didn’t define her youth, nor did it consume it, but it was always her little escape, her oasis away from the world, like reading books or watching movies. So now she wonders, what’s a lady in her mid 20s to do when she discovers Diablo III? To play, or not to play?