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Matilda heaved her last step up the snowy mound. The ship's spotlight hovered above her with intensity. She exhaled a cloud of moist breath and looked up at him extending his hand out to her.

I knew you loved me this much. His voice said in her head.

There is nothing left for me on this Earth. She responded, a flurry of nerves buzzing in her stomach.

He appeared in front of her in a naked human form. She trembled with love.

I will not bring you back.

She nodded and stepped into the spectrum of light with him. They began to float as he kissed her, their bodies enclosing on the opening of the spaceship.

His touch felt like none other. A monstrous alien captivated her heart from the moment he promised her a life of eternity.

He woke, shivering, in the dark of night. His wet clothes clung to his goose-bump filled skin. How long had he been submerged? He coughed violently for a moment, wheezing and gasping for air. His small lungs burned. His bare toes were numb. Nichena knew he was in trouble.

The boy scrambled on the mud, away from the edge of the lake. He couldn't stop the tears. The Rusalki had taken him under for so long, he thought for sure he would drown. But just as he readied himself for death, she returned him to the surface where he took a desperate breath. He could still feel the coldness of her hand around the back of his neck and it terrified him.

“Mama!” He yelled into the night, struggling to get back on his feet. His weakened body couldn't give much more...so he sunk into the mud and continued to cry. Separated from his mother in the middle of the haunted forest, his first time traveling to the city had gone terribly wrong.

He last remembered petting Kika and the next thing he knew, the Rusalki snatched him right under the water. He should have listened to his Ma and not played near it.

Nichena choked on his tears and looked over his shoulder at the lake. Moonlight broke through the spruce trees, reflecting a haunting stillness on the water's surface. He didn't trust it. Gulping, he called out to his mother again. He listened for the sound of her voice, but it never came.

“Get up, stupid!” He said to himself as he tried to stand, but his knees buckled and he collapsed back into the mud.

A woman's cackle broke through the tense air and sent a horrified tremble up his spine. Bubbles formed on the lake's surface. Small ones at first, followed by larger ones that spread like wildfire through the water. A shrilling song filled the night, like that of a twisted lullaby.

“No!” Nichena bawled. “Leave me alone!”

The Rusalki appeared around him in a small circle, their skin white, their clothes tattered and rotting from the time of their deaths. The coldness of their stares sent great fear into Nichena's tiny heart.

“Mama! Mama!” He said, scrambling up the bank.

But they blocked him off, more in number than he could count on both hands. They drew in closer and he gave up, laying on his back. Seven years of life would end the same way other men died when they unfortunately approached Mystic's Lake. He looked up at the beautiful and lifeless faces of the Rusalki, his stomach turning and the memories of his young life flooding his head. His mother and father would never find him. His baby sister, Mati, would grow up unprotected by him. The tears continued to stream down his dirty face and he clung to the moist earth below with his fingernails. The women closed in on him and he felt himself being hoisted back into the water.

Vrinda sat on her knees, at the end of the line, waiting for her turn to be blessed by the head Swami. The normally quiet meditation hall was filled with hundreds of worshipers, all there to see the young initiates dedicate themselves to a life serving the Gods.

Her palms clammy, her fingers tense, she gripped the sides of her white and yellow robes. She'd be wearing orange ones by the end of the ceremony. The hall danced with the beating of drums, the syrupy sound of the harmonium, and the clinking of cymbals. The chanting threatened to drown out her thoughts and the earthy scent of burning sage turned her stomach.

“Jai Sri Krisna! Jai, Jai!”

Around her, worshipers danced, laughed, clapped their congratulations to her and the others. But the muscles in her face stiffened and her heart felt like it would stop beating. She'd been living in ashrams since the time of her birth and when her parents had died, she'd been left at this particular one to be raised by the priests. Nine years old she had been then, and at no time did she wish for another life.

Except for now.

At age 21, she had never known love the way others her age knew it. Raised in a life of solitude, meditation, fire ceremonies, and servitude to the Gods, Vrinda had been given the best life her poor parents could have hoped for when they were alive. But she was a woman now and wished for love, a husband, children, and all the things women of the world did.

Ahead of her there were two initiates, which meant her acceptance into the category of priest drew near. She gulped. She wished to run away and lose herself in the immense crowd so she couldn't be found. She could run away to the nearest village and be safely there by sunset.

But such an honor it was to live among the other priests and dedicate her life to spirituality, though her heart did not wish it so.

What else could she do? She'd milked the cows for as long as she could remember. Fed the chickens. Done laundry. She had no real skills to offer the world in order to survive. The priests fed her, gave her a place to sleep, and loved her as if she were their own. If she ran away, she would be a disgrace in their eyes and that of the Gods.

But not in her own.

The lad in front of her took his turn. The swamis circled his body with smoke, placed a garland over him, and painted the center of his head with red ash. They prayed for him and he placed his hands in the center of his chest, bowed his head, and tears slid down his cheeks, dropping to the dirt.

Vrinda cried. She was next. And there was no way out.

Serana never understood just what made her friend, the Dovahkiin, tick. Under the discomfort of frigid rain somewhere in the Rift’s forests, she trembled from a combination of nerves and cold. She buried her head deeper into her hood and exhaled a cloud of breath.

“Felina,” She said softly. “I don’t think we’re going to find this woman anytime soon. We’re wasting precious time looking for her when we should be--”

“I didn’t ask for your opinion.” Felina interrupted as she crossed her arms above her chest. “She stole my staff and I have every right to search for her.”

The Imperial spoke with such venom it made Serana shiver. “I’m sorry, its just that the Dawnguard is expecting us at Castle Volkihar tomorrow morning and we’ve been searching for Illia here for three days now.”

The warm light of their torches illuminated Felina’s icy glare. “Without that staff we can’t kill Harkon. What part of that do you not understand?”

Serana shook her head. She felt partly responsible for allowing Illia to take the staff with her when they parted ways with her in Darkfall Cave. She considered the former witch a weak mage and figured the staff would keep her safe from the dangers of Skyrim’s wilderness. But she never thought that the woman would run off with the staff either.

“She could be anywhere.” Serana said, worrying that she might upset her friend more with her persistence. But she had to try and talk her out of the continual waste of time. “Look, we’re at least not going to find her before we have to meet with the Dawnguard. We already have to take a carriage out of Riften as it is.”

Her wavering breath gave away her fear. Being a vampire for thousands of years came with its perks, but she still felt no match for the Dovahkiin’s wrath. And truth was that she needed her.

Felina narrowed her eyes and began to walk back down the stone road, her hurried steps hinting at her pent up anger.

“We’ll find her.” The Imperial said over her shoulder. “And when we do, I’m going to slice her throat from ear to ear. I hate thieves.”

Serana followed her. “Can’t we just head back to Riften? Harkon grows more powerful by the day. And do you remember almost falling at the hands of his friends yesterday morning? He’s sending his stronger parties to find us. We’ve got to reach Castle Volkihar soon.”

Felina ignored her words and progressed down the road. The outline of a Khajit appeared in the night. He stood at the end of the approaching bridge. And when Serana heard her friend’s sword slide from its sheath, her heart jumped into her throat.

“Felina!” She cried, loud as she could. “No! Please, don’t!”

The Imperial reached the Khajit before Serana could even blink. Her Nordic sword tore through the cat’s abdomen and under the light of the stars, blood oozed from his wound. He cried out in pain, trying to fight for his life with his extended claws. But Felina rammed the sword deeper into him, and his body fell lifeless to the ground.

“Felina! Stop this!” Serana yelled, struggling to contain her fear and rising rage. “Why did you just do that for?”

The tiny Dovahkiin pulled her bloody sword back and laid it on the ground next to her. Frantic, she searched the still pulsing body of the Khajit.

“I need it.” She said in a small voice. “I need the skooma.”

“But--but you could have just bought it from him!”

“I don’t have the gold for that. Now leave me alone!”

Serana stepped back from the grisly scene, wrapping her cloak tight around her to find even an ounce of comfort. She loved Felina, yet feared her. And as the woman dug through the Khajit’s pockets with a desperation, the vampire’s heart sank. Her friend would never be free of the skooma and that was for certain.

The young tavern maid strutted down a lonesome alley, the only light coming from her torch. Her ankles hurt from a long shift at Candlehearth Hall. She needed to get new boots. These old ones had worn soles and were uncomfortable to work in. One more week until Elda paid her, then she could finally buy the sharp looking pair of leather boots she'd seen at the market a few days ago. Yes, the ones that laced up to the knees and made her feel sensual when she served ale to the customers. The prettier she felt, the more tips she made.

Susanna The-Wicked enjoyed her nightly walk home from the tavern on the empty streets of Windhelm. The crisp air made her walk fast but that just meant she'd be home to warm up a bowl of apple cabbage stew that much sooner. She smiled at the thought of having a full belly and crawling into her straw bed.

Footsteps echoed through the alley behind her. She stopped and turned around, holding up the torch so she could see better. Nothing, and no one.

“Skeevers.” She muttered and shook her head.

Susanna resumed her walk home. Although she heard talk of the murders in Windhelm all day long, she didn't let the nerves bother her. Talos would protect her. Besides, she'd walked home in the night for as long as she could remember.

The footsteps sounded closer to her. She swallowed and looked over her shoulder. Still nothing. Maybe instinct...but a chill went up the back of her neck.

“Hello?” She said, her hand clenched around the torch. She pressed her lips into a line. “Who's out there?”

The dark alley stood silent and cold. She swallowed again. Her stomach growled. Best she haste home. She turned around and the tip of an ebony dagger faced her. Its hilt blended into the black leather glove of the young woman who stared back at Susanna, her face cold as the alley they stood in.

Covered in a hooded black cloak, the petite woman smirked at the tavern maid.

“Hello.” She said softly. “Its lovely to see you outside the tavern, for once.”

“Fe-Felina?” Susanna let out a cracked laugh. “What are you doing out here? And why are you pointing your dagger at me?”

The Imperial smiled wide and revealed a straight set of white teeth. Her large blue eyes danced with an energy that made the Nord shiver. It irritated her that she'd been followed home by a customer who wanted to play a sick joke. She wouldn't tolerate it.

“Get that out of my face.” Susanna tried to push the girl's hand aside, but her stiff arm didn't budge.

“I'm here to kill you, dearest tavern wench.” Felina said, and took a step towards her victim. “The Dark Brotherhood calls.”

“Lies.”

“I don't tell lies.”

“But we're friends. You introduced me to your husband just yesterday.”

“I can't afford to feed him if I don't kill you.”

Susanna screamed for the guards but the assassin grabbed her by the throat with surprising strength. She tried to fend off the attack by using the torch to block the dagger, but Felina knocked it out of her hand and pushed her into a set of wooden barrels. They struggled for control of the dagger and rolled on the wet stones, a fury of blonde and black hair flying about. Grunts, punches, and one more screech for help.

Susanna The-Wicked put all her hope and strength into a fierce attempt to live, but her head hit the stones with a thud. Pain cracked through her skull and hot tears of panic trailed down her cheeks.

“No! Please!” She begged, but Felina's hands wrapped around her tense neck. Intense pressure cut off Susanna's breath, and she gasped for air when the strangling stopped. She stared into the evil eyes of the girl she'd served a drink to earlier that night.

Felina climbed on top of her, a crazy smile on her girlish face. “The guards can't hear you because they're sleeping.”

“Please! I have a sick mother--”

But Susanna's pleas were cut short by the ebony blade. Over and over again it cut through her tender belly, blood flying in the air that provided her last few breaths. Memories of her short life popped in and out of her mind as she died, wishing that she'd let Elda send her home early after all.

Candlehearth Hall reeked of old mead and musky body odor. Felina Imhatius made sure to speed walk past Elda Early-Dawn cleaning tankards at the front counter, her gaze directed at the floor. Hidden in the folds of her tunic, the tip of the ebony blade she'd just used to take Susanna's life pressed against her hip. She buried her head deeper inside her hood.

“Fresh bread?” Elda asked, her voice loud and irritating.

Felina shook her head and darted into the candle lit hallway towards her rented room. Well past midnight, she trusted that her husband still slept, and that she'd be able to crawl back into bed without him noticing. But she had to wash her hands and face first. She'd managed to change into a fresh tunic from the bloodied one, so at least that part was done.

She hurried towards the kitchen. No one would be in there. She passed the door to her room and turned the corner--

“Felina.” Onmund's voice came from behind her, and brought her to a halt. “Where have you been?”

How could she have missed hearing the door open? She quickly wiped her bloody cheeks on her shoulders and tucked her black hair inside her hood. After a readied breath, she licked her lips and grinned.

“I went to the Talos shrine to pray.” She said, and turned around slow to face him. Dark circles hung below his gentle eyes. “And asked him to bless us on our trip to Riverwood.”

Onmund blinked, and his top lip quivered. “The shrine? At this time of night?”

“Would I lie to you?” She said, sweetness thick in her tone. She smiled.

“I didn't think you believed in Talos.” He responded, doubt wavering in his voice.

“I worship what you worship, my love. Now, go back to sleep. I only want to warm my hands at the hearth.”

“Why not use the one upstairs?”

“Can't a girl get a moment's peace?”

Onmund nodded and smiled back at her. “Alright, love. I'm sorry to have questioned your religious beliefs. Will you lay with me when you return? I enjoy your warmth.”

Felina giggled, and a tingling sensation fluttered in her stomach. Giddy. But the cloak hid the blood on her hands and she didn't let him get close. “I love you, husband. I'll be in bed in a moment.”

He sent her a tired wink and went back inside the room. She waited until the door closed before hurrying into the kitchen. Cool from the barely burning hearth, she crossed over to where the washstand stood in the corner.

Dry. She glanced around but the only two buckets around were empty. How would she--

Felina ran to the shelf and grabbed a handful of mead bottles. She knelt on the floor and uncorked them with her dagger. She trembled as she used the mead to wash the blood off her hands. Crimson crusts caked under her fingernails refused come out. She needed to properly bathe, but how would she ever explain to Onmund how she had blood everywhere? She wiped the ebony dagger clean with the hem of her tunic.

“I need to kill cleaner.” She whispered to herself in disgust.

And more efficiently.

She couldn't keep lying to Onmund this way, and she didn't want to risk him discovering her following through with one of her contracts. He would leave her if he ever found out the truth...and such certainty burned in the center of her chest on a daily basis. He didn't know that she'd been communicating with Astrid through letters, and that Sithis had blessed her in the way of contracts sent to her by courier. The excuse she gave her mistress as to why she hadn't yet traveled to the Falkreath sanctuary?

“Freshly married.” She muttered, and dried her hands with her cloak. She picked up the empty bottles and tossed them in a cabbage barrel. She slipped her dagger back in its sheath and sighed at the puddle of mead on the wooden floor. This would be the last time she'd ever kill close to home. By Sithis, she swore.

A firm knock at the door startled Felina awake. Belly down, she propped up to her elbows and rubbed her itchy eyes. Onmund groaned under the covers next to her.

“Who's that?” He yawned.

Felina shrugged but jumped at the next series of knocks. Rap tap tap! Rap tap tap! Her eyebrows drew together and she gulped. Had Susanna's body been discovered butchered in the alley? She chewed on the inside of her cheek.

“Open the door, Imperial.” Elda Early-Dawn's muffled directions made the teenager's stomach turn. “Its urgent.”

“No.” Felina whispered when Onmund sprung from bed and slipped into his pair of ragged trousers. “Pretend we're not in here.”

He looked back at her and rolled his eyes. “Love, if its urgent we have to comply.”

She shook her head with wide eyes. She'd been caught! Why else would the tavern owner wake them up so insanely early?

“What are you so nervous for?” Onmund's eyes laughed at her. His cool, stable demeanor made her feel inferior to him at times.

“No reason.” She said. Her stomach grumbled and turned.

“Relax. I'm sure its nothing.”

But she couldn't! Had she left evidence at the crime scene? Footprints? A lock of her hair? She sat up in bed and curled her legs under her behind. She pulled the blanket up to her chin when Onmund opened the door and in walked Elda followed by two guards. Felina held her breath and bit down on her lip.

“Good morning.” Onmund greeted them with a weak smile. “What can we help you with?”

“Err—sorry to disturb you, young ones.” Elda cleared her throat and blushed. “Didn't mean to—uh—interrupt anything.”

“Its alright, milady.” Onmund smiled and glanced at the guards. “Can we assist you with something?”

One of the guards excused himself deeper into the room and walked straight towards Felina. The metal helmet covering his face prevented her from reading him, a skill she depended on in her trade. Sweat slid down her temples. She scrambled backwards across the dinky straw bed.

“You there.” He said with authority. “What is your name?”

She opened her mouth to speak but whimpered instead. Her eyes darted from Onmund to Elda to the second guard. She thought of Susanna's body poorly hidden behind the barrels in the alley. She should have done a better job of making sure no one found her. She swallowed again.

“Its Felina Imhatius, Sir.” She said, and sat up straight. She couldn't afford to let the nerves give her away.

“Felina, do you know that Susanna The-Wicked was found hacked to pieces in an alley this morning?” The guard said, and slid his hand over the hilt of his steel sword.

Onmund gasped in the background. “The tavern wench?”

“Uh...no.” The Imperial shrugged. “We've been in this room all night sleeping.”

“That's not true, Sir.” Elda chimed in, and frowned. “I saw this girl leave and come back very late in the evening. And it looked like she hid something in her cloak.”

“My wife went to the Talos shrine to pray.” Onmund defended, and placed his hands on his hips. “If you're hinting that she had anything to do with Susanna's death--”

“How do you know that's where this conversation is going?” The second guard said and stepped forward. “We're just here to ask you folks some questions, is all. We're doing the same with everyone.”

Felina scratched her face and bunched the blanket over her breasts. The undecency of these people to walk in on her private moment and not even care she wasn't dressed! She stared into Elda's puffy eyes and felt a glimmer of remorse. But the five-hundred gold Astrid promised to pay for Susanna's death made her stiffen under the blanket.

“Susanna was such a nice girl.” She ran her fingers through her tangled black locks. “Who would ever want to hurt her?”

“That's what we're trying to find out.” The guard standing by the bed said. “We need to know where you went past midnight this morning.”

Felina allowed a section of the blanket to expose her flesh. She held back a wicked grin at Elda's gasps and Onmund's orders to cover herself up again. She looked up at the guard and faked a cry.

“I loved Susanna.” She forced the tears, and ignored the remainder of the blanket sliding off her. “She served me an ale just last night. This is such terrible news.”

“Ma'am! Err-” The guard said in a strained tone. “We need to know where you went. I'm not going to ask you again. And cover up. Your nudity is uncalled for.”

“Darling, you'll catch cold.” Onmund said, and covered her up with the blanket. “Excuse my wife, Sir. She's nervous about the long journey we're taking to Riverwood this morning.”

“Just answer the man's question!” Elda stomped her foot. “I already don't trust you two and if either of you had anything to do with this--”

Felina let out a suffering wail and threw herself into Onmund's lap. “I can't believe she's gone! Nooo!”

“Oh, my love!” He comforted her. “I know how much you liked her.”

The guard grabbed the girl by the arm and shook her. “You were seen leaving the scene of the crime. I gave you plenty of chance to excuse why you were there. Now, you're coming with me.”

Felina's eyes widened, and she tried to wriggle away. “No! You have no right!”

“But Sir, she was here with me all night!” Onmund protested, his gaze darting to the other guard. “You can't take her for no reason!”

“I found a puddle of mead and blood in the kitchen.” Elda said heatedly. “You're going to tell me she's innocent? I saw her go in there.”

The guard standing at the door crossed the room with two large steps and helped restrain a dazed Felina. She couldn't go to jail—not again! She detested the tattered wools on the floor, the skeevers, and the criminal reputation.

And Astrid would be furious with her.

“Will you at least let me dress?” She snapped. “For Talos's sake. Give a woman some decency.”

The guard tossed her on the bed and snickered. “Make it quick. We'll be waiting outside the room for you. Murderer.”

Felina whipped around and scowled. “You have no proof that I did anything to that girl.”

The guard laughed, and motioned Elda forward. She pulled out Felina's ebony blade from the folds of her dress and handed it to the guard. The Imperial cried out in protest.

“That's mine. How did you—”

“I'm a keen old woman.” Elda snarled. She walked out of the room in a huff.

“This blade still has blood on it.” The guard said. “The stab wounds on poor Susanna's body came from a finely crafted dagger...which this is.”

“Is this true?” Onmund asked. His cheek twitched. “Did you kill this girl?”

Felina stared back at him, quiet. She tucked her chin down and slid her gaze behind her as the guards walked out of the room. The closing of the door made her heart sink. Elda had betrayed her. She had snuck into the room, gone through her belongings, and pulled out the ebony blade she'd brought all the way from Cyrodiil. The blood on it could be anyone's...but she'd been caught by her own ego and stupidity.

She glanced up at her husband. His face lacked any color. She bit her lip.

“Yes. I did.” She sniffed. She avoided looking into his eyes and instead wiggled into her tunic.

“How could you?” He croaked. “Is that where you went last night?”

She nodded.

“But why?”

She bent over to slip on her fur shoes. Her waist-length black hair tumbled around her face, hiding the tears that slid down her cheeks. She would lose him and she just couldn't face it. “I'm an assassin, Onmund. My Pa trained me to be one.”

He grabbed her by the shoulder and spun her around. She cried, and he pinched her chin. He lowered his face close to hers, the smell of the Nord mead he'd drank the past evening still lingered in his breath. He looked hurt, almost tortured. He cried with her.

“The Brotherhood?”

“Yes.”

“But—you promised!”

“How else are we supposed to earn septims?” She pushed his hand away and left the room, ready to face the consequences of a crime that felt natural to her.

Felina sat in the creaky chair inside her jail cell. She rested her head on the wooden table, and counted eleven splinters poking out from it. She'd get one stuck in her cheek if she fell asleep in this position, but that would still be better than laying on the cold stone floor. She sighed, letting the breath flutter her lips.

Horker [&@%!]. That's what all of this was. Elda had gone out of her way to set her up. The racism towards her couldn't be clearer.

A man's distant wail in another cell aroused the tiny hairs on the back of her neck. Just how long would she be in here? And would she reach the executioner's block for murder this time? There would be no dragon to save her.

Onmund. What of him? He visited her every morning for the three days she'd been kept in this Oblivion of a jail. He wept every time and accused her of betraying his trust. His behavior deeply irritated her. He knew what type of girl she was when he fell in love with her. He only had himself to blame.

“Milk drinker.” She muttered, and looked down at her gold wedding band. Stuck with him forever. She'd seen his weak side as a result of this whole mess, and she didn't respect it. The husband of an assassin should be more...accepting. “I shouldn't have married a mage.”

But she wanted to study magic, and it seemed a fitting match. And he bedded her well enough. The stench of urine burned her nostrils. She sat up and heaved in disgust. She couldn't tolerate these conditions much longer.

Felina stood up from the chair so fast she knocked it over. She searched the cell for anything she could use to pick the lock to the bars which imprisoned her. She wouldn't stay here for another night even if she risked being impaled by one of the guards' steel swords.

She flipped over the tattered bedroll she'd been given, and turned to look over her shoulder when she heard the clank of keys. A guard unlocking her cell? Her mouth gaped open.

“Where are you taking me?” She blurted out, and scrambled away from him as he approached her.

“You've been set free.” The guard said and extended his hand out to her. “Your crazy brother has paid a hefty fine to let you out.”

Felina blinked and allowed him to pull her to her feet. She stretched out her neck but didn't see anyone standing outside of the cell. Her brows drew together.

“Brother?” She asked in nearly a whisper. The guard laughed and lowered his face close to hers.

“I know what you do, girl. Get out of Windhelm before I speak to the Jarl myself about the little cult you belong to. Go on!” He shoved her towards the cell door. “Your husband awaits outside with your belongings. Don't let me catch you in this city again. Murderer.”

Freedom! But...given by whom? Dare she ask about Susanna?

Felina sent the guard a hardened look and ran out of the cell, up the stairs and through the main room where the guards slept. She passed their inquisitive looks with her head held high. She'd been let off for murder but her face would be remembered. It didn't matter. At least she didn't have to face any penalties for killing off that stupid tavern wench.

She hurried outside to where snowy skies greeted her. And her saddened husband. He nearly knocked her over with his embrace. His breath reeked like fermented berries.

“Oh, my love! I thought I would lose you forever!” He kissed her lips with a suffocating hunger. She pushed him away and scowled.

“In Talos's name, let me breathe!” She snarled. “Where are my things?”

Her eyes darted past Onmund to a smiling jester, standing with his hands on his hips. He tapped the heel of his boot on the stone, and extended his arm out with her sack. He winked at her.

“Oh, here you go, dearest sister. Is this what you'd like?”

It can be said that Felina made a connection with Cicero the moment she approved of him. And she could always recognize another Imperial. The wicked fire in his hazel eyes drew her in like a freshly baked sweetroll—dangerous yet satisfying. His silly black robe, red tights, and belled cap made her giggle. She took her pack from him and smiled wide.

“Felina,” Onmund interrupted her fascination with the jester. “uh...”

He glanced around at the guards standing in front of the main door to the Palace of Kings. He leaned into her ear and whispered. “He's the one who paid for your release.”

She shrugged her shoulder to shoo her husband away, and her gaze remained connected to Cicero's. She twirled a thick strand of her black hair around her grimy fingers.

“Thank you, Brother.” She said and curtsied. He swiveled his hips in an eccentric dance which enchanted her.

“Oh, ho ho! You're welcome, my beautiful sister. Oh, but Mother awaits! We best return home so she can know that you're well and safe.” Cicero's words sounded more like a song than regular speech. He pushed past Onmund and grabbed her by the wrist. “Are you hungry, child? Cicero has a few septims he can use to buy his good looking sister a sweetroll. What do you say?”

“Yes.” Felina exclaimed, and slid her hand into his. She shivered. “I'm starved.”

“Wait just a moment.” Onmund sniffed behind them. He pulled Felina away from the jester. “You can't take her away wherever you want because you bailed her out. She's my wife, after all.”

“But we own her.” Cicero growled in the Nord's face. “And I suggest you back off and let me handle things from here. Otherwise she'll go right back to jail where neither of us will have access to her. Hm?”

Felina grinned and bit down on her lip. Two men fighting over her? What fun! She slid her gaze over to Onmund, quietly waiting for his explosive reaction. Unfortunately, he gave her no such pleasure.

“You're right.” He said slowly, and straightened his posture. “We do have an agreement. At least I keep my bargains.”

Felina turned away from him and focused on Cicero. “Brother...my sweetroll?”

The jester exchanged a firm nod with Onmund, and smiled down at her. “Follow me. Our carriage awaits, Sister.”

Hands locked together, Felina and Cicero made a brisk exit out of Windhelm. Onmund trailed begrudgingly behind. She kept quiet and listened to the jester speak about a random assortment of things including crispy carrots covered in lavender icing, how to properly bed a tavern maid (and oh, what terrible news about Susanna The-Wicked), the right way to polish an ebony blade so that he could see his reflection when he poisoned it, and how much he missed Cyrodiil.

They hurried past the busy stable with neighing horses. The stench of their droppings made the digesting sweetroll in the girl's stomach slush. She covered her nose with her cloak and came to a halt right in front of the carriage. She looked up at Cicero. “Where in Cyrodiil do you come from?”

Onmund cleared his throat next to her. “Love, we should really get going--”

“Shh!” Cicero put his forefinger up to his lips. “I'm about to tell my sister a story, you oaf!”

“Oaf?” The Nord said. “Why are you insulting me?”

“Don't you see that I'm trying to bond with her?” The jester's forehead wrinkled and his cheeks reddened. “You keep interrupting my stories and there's nothing I despise more than a jealous husband.”

Felina clasped her hand over her mouth to hold back a laugh. Her gaze darted over to her offended husband. Poor man. He didn't deserve the sort of misery she placed him through. She rubbed his shoulder and cooed at him.

“Darling, you anger so easily. It worries me.”

Onmund frowned and shook his head. He opened his mouth to say something but shook his head instead. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked out into the distance. She swore he fumed inside.

Cicero yawned. “Mmm, where were we? Oh, yes! Bruma. I'm from Bruma. And you, dearest sister?”

She squeaked in joy. “That's where I'm from, too!”

“Ah, well how wonderful!” Cicero snapped his fingers and shimmied. “Two Imperials serving our mother. And tell me, girl, who was your father?”

Felina's smile faded. “Lucan Imhatius.”

The jester gasped. “The Lucan Imhatius? Who lived...you know...” He glanced over at Onmund.

She nodded and threw herself into the waiting carriage. She didn't want to speak about her [&@%!] of a father. She hated him. “Let's go.”

Cicero tapped his finger on his chin and observed her for a moment. She ignored him and motioned Onmund into the carriage.

“Bad relationship?” The jester asked.

“Yes.” She said and scooted close to her pouting husband.

“I won't ask of it again, Sister. Oh, is he coming, too? You do realize our mistress won't let him into the sanctuary, no?”

“And what business is it of hers?” Felina snapped. “He's my husband and his place is by my side.”

“You're not separating us.” Onmund chimed in heatedly.

Cicero snorted and rolled his eyes. He jumped into the carriage and sat across from the couple. “Alright. You can try all you want but I'm telling you that Astrid is quite a [&@%!]. And she'll be especially angry now that she had to shell out five-hundred septims thanks to your amateur slaughtering skills. You really should be more tidy about your work.”

He winked at Felina and instructed the driver to take off. The carriage pulled away from the Windhelm stables at a slow, creaky pace. She allowed Onmund's arm around her waist. She didn't have the courage to even look at him, so she watched the city walls get smaller the further down the road they went.

Silence. Its what she practiced as an assassin, but it weighed between the three of them now. Cicero was taking her to the Falkreath sanctuary, of this she was sure. She had to face Astrid and explain herself for such unprofessional conduct. She'd been warned, the Dark Brotherhood did not bail their assassins out more than once.

The Dark Brotherhood sanctuary in Falkreath was well hidden in the depths of a thick forest. By torchlight, Felina and Onmund followed Cicero down an overgrown trail. She swatted a mosquito on her cheek, and wiped the blood smear on her cloak. She groaned.

“Is it much further?” She complained, scratching the bite. “I'm famished.”

Cicero chuckled. “Is my sister feeling a bit grumpy? Hm, you know, Cicero doesn't like milk drinkers.”

She frowned and looked down at the ground. She didn't want to be known by her new family for being the weak one. No honor in that. Onmund followed close behind her. He'd bumped into her numerous times already and she swore he acted scared. He didn't trust the jester, that she could guess right on. Did he even trust her at this point? She hurried to catch up with her new brother.

“I think my husband needs a break.” She said in a low voice. “He keeps falling behind.”

“I do not.” Onmund defended. “You're the one who complained about such a pleasurable walk through the woods past midnight. Witches? Werewolves? Dragons?”

“Dragons are real.” She snarled at him over her shoulder. He grinned and shook his head.

“Stop it, you two.” Cicero slowed his pace. “There's nothing to fear in these woods except us. Right, Onmund?”

The Nord rolled his eyes.

“Ha ha. That's right, little mage. Its clear that dear Cicero makes you nervous. Ah, well. Don't worry too much. I won't slice your throat in front of your wife.”

“Cicero!” Felina's yell brought them all to a stop. She shook her finger in front of the jester's face. “I do not wish to hear anymore of your insults towards my husband. Keep them to yourself or I'll rat you out to Astrid. Understood?”

“Hm. The mistress is who you should both be afraid of. Even Cicero avoids her when he can.”

Felina pulled away from him and glanced over at Onmund. He gave the jester a cold, mean look. Maybe she'd been wrong about his weak spirit if he dared to stare down an assassin. And the loopiest one she'd ever met at that.

She pulled her hood over her head and pushed Cicero onward. “Go. And no more taunts. You forget its Onmund I sleep next to every night and I fear his wrath more than yours or Astrid's.”

She exchanged a smile with her husband.

Cicero let out a loud, child-like sigh. “Very well. The sanctuary is just around this corner here.”

They reached a small pond, out of place in the middle of a heavy forest. The jester motioned them towards a small trail on the left. Obscured by the brush, a black door with a painted skull in the center hummed and lured Felina in.

Home.

She controlled her excitement long enough to let Cicero whisper the secret words to open the door in her ear. She slid a look at Onmund. He met her with concern and an air of uncertainty. He could never understand what this meant for her.

“Try it.” The jester encouraged her towards the door with a broad grin.

She nodded and stood in front of the door. She stroked its darkness and closed her eyes. Finally, she was home with her family. If only her Pa—no. She wouldn't think of him again. He died for her the moment he left a bruise on her jaw. The door spoke to her, and she whispered her response. It creaked open, and revealed a candlelit set of stairs leading into a room. She turned to Onmund.

“Wait here for me.” She kissed him on the cheek. “I'll come back with bread and cheese for you.”

He grabbed her wrist and narrowed his eyes at Cicero. “Can I have a private moment with my wife?”

The jester started to protest but Onmund ignored him and pulled Felina a few feet away from the door. His nostrils flared and his eyes teared up. He slid his hand up the back of her arm.

“How many have you killed?” He asked in a low voice. Her mouth twitched.

“I can't say--”

“Felina.” His fingers squeezed her arm, and he clenched his teeth. “I had to trust in these people to get you out of jail because I didn't have a septims to do it myself. The steward said you'd be locked up for Talos knows how long. You owe me an explanation.”

She chewed on a fingernail. Sworn by her vow to the Void Father, she couldn't tell him anything about her work as an assassin. She felt enough guilt over having lied to him. Why didn't he just accept she made her septims this way and move on?

Because most people don't want to marry killers.

“Are you going to abandon me?” She dared not look at him.

“We're sworn together by Mara.” He said. “But I don't know how I'm supposed to live with a follower of Sithis. Tell me, Felina. How am I to carry on each day with this burden in my heart? How are we supposed to raise children in all of this?”

“I don't want children.” She pouted, and ripped an entire fingernail off with her teeth. Blood seeped out of the nail bed. She wiped it off on her tunic.

Onmund brought her close to him. His tears splashed on her bosom. “I can give you a better life than this.”

Quiet for a moment, she licked her top row of teeth. She'd been wrong about her husband again. He'd have left her by now if he wanted to. She softened to him.

“I can make us very wealthy.” She said.

“By taking innocent lives?”

“If they were void of wrongdoings, they wouldn't have contracts on their heads.”

“Do you ever think of the people left behind? Of their suffering?”

Felina bit down on her lip. “Sometimes.”

Onmund loosened his grip on her arm. “Is that not enough to convince you of how wrong this all is?”

She sighed. Not even the money would sway him. She shook her head, unable to think of the proper things to say.

“I don't want you doing this.” He continued heatedly. “This isn't the way the Divines want us to live.”

“Its just business.” She pulled her arm away, and rubbed its sore spot.

In his eyes she could see how much she'd hurt him. She never kept her promises anymore, and that ate at her. She loved him. But first she was a daughter of Sithis, and it was his problem if he didn't want to understand that. Her eyes darted to the ground. Out of excuses, exhausted from the manipulation. This is who she was and she wouldn't be ashamed of it anymore.

“I've hid in the shadows my entire life.” She said through gritted teeth. “And I'll spend the rest of my days doing so.”

He listened to her in silence.

“Stop worrying about those who die. Your vows under Mara are to me, not them. I told you we can become rich from these contracts. Does it make a difference if people die in the name of Sithis versus the name of the Jarls? They're still sent away from this world by your hands, well as mine.”

“You can't compare the worth of a tavern wench with that of a bandit leader.” He wiped the snot under his nose with his sleeve.

“I didn't say one weighed more than the other. Does it really matter who they are? We're both going to die someday...perhaps very young. Why spend the remainder of our short lives away from one another because we're divided on how I make gold?”

An owl's hoot cracked the silence between them. And she knew that Cicero still waited for her. But she'd been selfish this entire time and Onmund was the one person she'd ever felt loyal to. He deserved her time. She reached for his hand but he yanked it away.

“Just go.” He said in a wavering voice. His lips trembled.

“But--” She took a step towards him.

“Go!” He put up his hand and walked away.

“Onmund!” She called after him. “Where are you going?”

He walked into the woods without an answer. She teared up but stopped herself from going after him, and watched as his silhouette grew smaller and eventually disappeared into the brush. She cried and screamed, but it didn't make her feel any better. And after a few lonely moments, footsteps crunched behind her.

“Sister?”

Felina turned to face Cicero.

“Oh, my poor, sweet sister!”

She allowed his embrace to swallow her. Cold like the Void, not warm like that of her husband's. She bawled into his chest. He rocked her in his arms, and kissed the top of her head. At least she was home.

The hearth in Astrid's private office crackled with a warmth missing from the rest of the sanctuary. Felina sat across the table from her blonde mistress, her feet dangling just above the floor. She played with her loose braid, trying to untangle a know with her fingers. She'd received a serious lecture for the past hour on the importance of clean killing, but she cared more about losing Onmund than anything else.

“...and furthermore,” Her mistress leaned across the table and placed her lean finger in Felina's face. “I'm deducting two hundred gold from your payment for Susanna's contract. You're lucky its not the whole amount we agreed on, which was your entire bail.”

“But that's unfair.” Felina protested, and slid to the edge of her seat. “I still put that wench out of her misery.”

A faint smirk appeared on Astrid's face. An unreadable woman. The kind that should be feared. She stood up and brushed the dust off her leather armor. She snatched a bag of coins from the top of the hearth, and tossed it on the table. “Seems pretty fair to me. You've cost this sanctuary more gold than we spend on a month's supply of food alone. This should teach you to be more responsible with your...victims. Oh, don't look at me that way. Listen, I don't have anymore contracts for you at this time. I'll send word to you when I do.”

Felina lowered her head. Her mistress was right. She had messed up her contract and gotten arrested for it. Assassins were never supposed to be seen, much less caught. Without a response, she grabbed the bag of coins and hurried towards the door.

Its improper to leave the mistress in this way.

“Milady.” She said, and swallowed a clump of nerves. “I apologize for my failure. I won't disappoint you again.”

Astrid sent her a frightening stare, and waved a dismissive hand in the air. “You're on your own if you do. Now, get out of here.”

Felina held back the tears and walked out of the room, her head still hung low. She sped past the main area where her brothers and sisters congregated for breakfast. A female Dunmer waved her over but she pretended to not see the motion, and she pressed on towards the back hall of the sanctuary. She would find emotional refuge in the Night Mother.

She poked her head inside the candlelit room, and her eyes darted to the iron coffin leaned up against the back wall. An offering of fresh mountain flowers decorated the floor in front of it, along with bread, cheese, and a wooden bowl with amethysts. She straightened her tunic, brushed her hair with her fingers, and approached the coffin which contained the Mother's rotting corpse.

She knelt in front of it and bowed her head, ashamed she had nothing to offer. She looked up at the coffin.

“I know it was you who spoke to me back in Bruma.” She whispered. “When will you speak to me again?”

Silence.

Felina pounded her fists on the floor. “I need you, Mother!”

Nothing.

She pressed her hands into her knees and sobbed. She loved Onmund so much, and never thought she would lose him. But he'd abandoned her, and she deserved it. Nausea made her stomach turn. She didn't notice Cicero enter the room as she cried. He startled her by stroking the top of her head.

“Go away.” She bawled and pushed him away. But the jester persisted in trying to comfort her.

“Sweet sister.” He cooed, and brushed the back of his hand against her tear-stained cheek. “Your husband doesn't know what a jewel he has.”

“He left me, Cicero.” She wailed. “I don't know what I'll do without him.”

“Shh.” He rocked her in his arms the way he had outside the sanctuary, and kissed her on the temple. “What a good girl you are, home with your mother. Don't worry, Cicero will take care of you.”

“Huh?” She sniffed and looked up at him. He squished her face with his sweaty hands.

“I've got something that will take the pain away.” He said with such venom it scared even her, but curiosity kept her hooked.

“What?”

He giggled and dug into his satchel. From it, he pulled out a tiny purple bottle of skooma. Felina licked her lips.

“Give it.” She said and reached for it.

“Nuh-uh!” He shook his head and raised up the bottle. She frowned. “First, a kiss for your dear brother.”

Felina blinked. Bile rushed up to her mouth. She wanted the skooma terribly. How long had it been? Two or three months? She needed it. But she didn't want to kiss Cicero.

A broad grin spread across his face and he waved it tauntingly at her. She kissed him on the lips and snatched the bottle away. He laughed.

Her hands trembled to open it, and the tart taste of the drug burned the inside of her throat. She wiped away the tears and ignored the jester's piercing stare. Her cheeks tingled and she snickered. Skooma...she'd missed it so very much. She leaned against Cicero's chest.

“Does my dearest girl feel better?” He asked and patted her on the head.

“Mmhmm.” She nodded, and closed her eyes.

“Good. I told you Cicero would take care of you.”

He continued to hold her in front of the Night Mother's coffin, and sung her a soft lullaby while she fell asleep. The skooma numbed her body, and hushed her mind. Cicero loved her, and everything would be alright.

Cicero had discovered Felina's weakness for skooma. His small stash of it supplied her well enough for the next three days, and since he even brought her plates of food, she barely left his room. He said the other members didn't ask about her, and that it was best he keep her habit a secret from Astrid. She agreed.

They spoke of Cyrodiil and their upbringing there, of loves lost, and the Night Mother. He told her of his thoroughness in cleaning the carcass, and of the substances he used to prevent it from rotting further. They giggled on his bed about the most ridiculous of things, and she smiled when his fingers would trace the outline of her silhouette. And if she saddened over Onmund again, he would give her another bottle of skooma. She appreciated his kindness.

On the morning of day four, Felina awoke with a skooma induced headache to Cicero's humming in the next room. She slipped out of his bed and followed the delightful sound of his voice. She turned the corner to where the Night Mother's coffin rested and peeked in with tired eyes. The flowery scent of lavender oil made its way to her nostrils.

“...and then Cicero kissed her on the lips while she slept, Mother.” The jester giggled as he rubbed oil on the carcass. “Mmm-hmm, he wanted to...touch...but he knows you wouldn't approve of that. Oh, no! Not while she's sleeping. Cicero does want his sister to remember every moment of their wicked doings!”

Felina sucked in a breath and leaned up against the wall outside of the room. Me? She asked herself, and continued to listen in on her brother's conversation with the Night Mother.

“The new sister is leading Cicero on...and it angers him!” She heard his fist pound on the table. “Married! No hope for dear Cicero. Oh, Mother! What is your Keeper to do? He really, really, really wants to eat that delicious little wench like a warm pastry.”

Felina squeezed her eyes shut at the thought of the jester touching her while she slept. Pervert.

“She's like...a boiled cream treat.” He cackled. “Oh, Mother. You know Cicero prefers sweetrolls but sister is too...plump...to be compared to one. Yes. Cicero likes to bed curvy maids.”

A blade unsheathed from its scabbard. “Her pathetic excuse for a husband is hiding at the Falkreath inn, Mother. Does he really think Cicero is going to give up his sweet, sweet prize? The poor fool has been sent away by yours truly every morning. Aha-ha! But soon, he'll lay in the woods, gutted like a deer...his entrails scattered for the wild animals to feed on.”

He bellowed out a laugh, sung and clapped for a few moments. Felina covered her mouth with her hand. Sickness turned in her stomach. Vomit tickled the back of her throat. Blasted skooma! It kept her imprisoned in his room for all those days. Had Onmund really come looking for her? She couldn't let Cicero continue to think that she wanted him. She banged the back of her head against the wall.

I have to keep Onmund away.

Her heart sank. She couldn't have trusted in a fouler person.

“...aha-ha-ha! Cicero and Felina...forever!” His laughter turned into a series of high-pitched giggles.

She pushed herself off the wall and ran back to his room. She shoved her belongings into her sack and grabbed her cloak.

She must leave right now.

Felina sped past the Night Mother's room, and mentally asked for forgiveness for leaving rushed. The circumstance prevented her from saying good-bye. But Cicero called out to her. She stopped.

“Yes?” She said, and didn't dare peer over her shoulder at him. Her heart thumped in her breast.

“Where are you going, dearest sister?” His tone sounded manipulative, and wicked.

She didn't want to face him. Instead, she slid her hand over the hilt of her ebony dagger. “To use the bucket, sweet brother.”

“With your pack?”

She licked her lips. “Its...my womanly time, Cicero. I'm sure you understand, yes?”

A tense moment passed, and he groaned. “Oh, alright. Be on your way. But bring Cicero back some bread and cheese. ”

Without a response, Felina hurried down the hallway. She breathed a sigh of relief when she entered the sanctuary's main room. Early morning meant that the others still slept, which allowed her to slip outside unnoticed. Her head ached the moment she breathed in the dewy air.

Hunger. It raged like a fire in her stomach. But she needed to find her way to the road. Did she remember the way? Cicero had brought them to the sanctuary in the dark, so nothing looked familiar. She wrapped herself in her cloak and shivered.

She would just keep walking until something...someone...

No. Skyrim's wilderness harbored many dangers. She couldn't let her guard down for a moment.

But...

Felina dropped to her knees and searched for the map Marcurio had given her months prior. She found it crumpled in the bottom of her sack, and she squealed with relief. Yet, she didn't know where in the woods of Falkreath she was. She cursed and shoved the map back in her pack. Worthless, just like the man who gave it to her.

If Onmund had called for her at the sanctuary every morning—and he was indeed staying at the inn—that meant the town couldn't be far from where she was. She sprung to her feet and walked in the direction she thought was the way she'd passed through before, hoping that it would somehow lead her to her husband.

By Sithis's grace, Felina found her way to Falkreath, and arrived just past the noon hour. Hand on her aching belly, she walked down the dirt road in search of the inn. Dirt-stained, melancholy faces looked up at her from their various tasks. Sadness clung to the air, and to her chest. She coughed from the tickling dust she breathed in.

She went up the wooden steps leading to the inn's entrance, and avoided the nosy gaze from the wench sweeping the porch. The tavern welcomed her with its musty stench and roaring hearth fire in the center of the room. Candles burned at the corners, barely lighting anything for her to see. She narrowed her eyes and recognized the dark curls buried into a tankard.

“Onmund!” She ran over to him. A mixture of joy and anxiety swept through her. He turned to face her with red, swollen eyes and cracked lips.

They embraced. His arms squeezed the breath out of her, but this time she didn't push him away. Reunited at last.

“I asked for you.” He croaked, and slid his hand down her cheek. “They threatened to kill me if I went back there.”

“I thought you hated me.” She cried.

Onmund shook his head, and he blinked rapidly.

“But you left.”

“I didn't know what to do or say, Felina. Look at the situation you've put us in.”

“I'm sorry. I need to talk to you.”

They sat on the bench and shared a long kiss, ignoring the prying eyes that filled the room. Felina slid her hands into his.

“Cicero is coming to kill you.” She said. “I saw him sharpening his blade.”

“Let him come.” Onmund said, and leaned in close to her. “Has he touched you?”

“No. But...husband, he'll do it. He'll kill you for sure.”

The tavern shook, and they nearly slid off the bench.

“What was that?” Felina exclaimed.

Onmund shrugged, and wrinkled his brow. He opened his mouth to speak when the walls shook again. Tankards and mead bottles rattled around them. A drunken Nord sitting by the hearth jumped to his feet. Whispers aroused.

“Wait here.” He ordered. He kissed her on the forehead and ran out of the inn. She heard a familiar roar outside as the door closed.

Felina pushed past the growing crowd and ran after Onmund, her hand on the hilt of her blade. Smoke filled air and panicked screams welcomed her outside of the tavern. Townsfolk ran down the streets, and guards shot arrows up into the clouds. A toddler bawled alone by the blacksmith's forge, her tunic muddied and bare feet trembling with fright. Chickens waddled into the bushes.

“Dragon!” A man yelled in the distance, just as a second roar tore through the sky.

The faint scent of burning foliage pulled her gaze to the left, where thick rolls of smoke rose up from outside the city wall. She drew her dagger from its scabbard.

“Everyone inside!” A guard directed the people rushing past him.

“Felina!” Onmund stood in the middle of the street, his bow drawn. “Get back inside!”

She rushed over to him. Tears streamed down her face. She wouldn't be separated from him, and if he thought he could fight a dragon, she'd convince him otherwise. She pulled him by the arm towards her.

“You can't fight this beast! I saw one burn Helgen to the ground!” She cried.

“I'm good with a bow!” His voice strained over a head-aching roar.

You will slay this dragon, the Night Mother spoke in Felina's head.

Her fingernails pressed deep into Onmund's flesh. She looked up at the massive creature hovering above the tiny town. His wings spanned beyond the scope of her vision, and the scales that made up his body were larger than the size of her head alone. His jaws opened to reveal a set of sharp and terrifying fangs, and she imagined their crushing weight around her body.

A ball of fire erupted from the dragon's mouth, rolling at great speed towards them.

“Look out!” Onmund shoved her out of the way and the fireball collided with the ground, trembling the earth beneath them and silencing the ongoing cries for help.

Felina's head hit the dirt, and a splintering pain coursed through her skull. The searing heat from the wyrm's fiery breath singed the hair in her nostrils. Fear froze her into place, and she connected with her husband's wide, blue eyes. Their hands clenched together.

She pushed him off her. “Give me your bow!”

He jumped on his feet. “No! Go back inside that tavern!”

She glanced up at the dragon circling above them, and summoned courage in her heart. She ignored Onmund's calls after her, and pushed past the group of guards helplessly attempting to bring down the beast with their iron arrows. One of them yelled at her to run inside, but the Night Mother urged her on.

The wyrm fears you.

Felina's palms itched and sweated. She conjured a bow into them, and ran towards the hovering beast.

“Look at me.” She whispered through gritted teeth.

The wyrm obeyed, and his laughter made the hairs on the back of her neck rise. He lifted higher into the air and did a final lap around Falkreath. Having found the perfect spot to land, his massive claws touched down on the ground, shaking it fiercely enough that it made her lose balance.

“Dovahkiin.” The great beast spoke to her. “We finally meet.”

Felina restrained her fear, and drew her summoned bow. She fired an arrow at him and it pierced his dusty scales. Unfazed, he mocked her by flapping his wings, sending waves of blinding dirt at her. She coughed and rubbed her eyes.

“You cannot win, mortal.” The dragon said. But she saw the doubt in the slits of his pupils.

A flash of lightning bolted from behind her, directed at the beast. He threw his jaws back and roared in pain. Onmund caught up to her.

“Together.” He heaved a breath. She nodded.

She ran to the left, and he to the right. A blizzard stormed from the dragon's jaws, crashing into the side of the tavern. Felina tripped over a dead man. She pushed herself up and prayed to Sithis for cunning. Amidst the terrifying chaos, lightning spells, flying arrows, and the slicing of scales by Nord steel, the wyrm battled for its life.

But he lost that day, the final blow delivered by a combination of attacks. Falkreath stood in the center of a smoldering ground, dead bodies, and the sweeping breeze of feared legends. A child whimpered somewhere in the wreckage.

Felina wiped the soot off her face with the hem of her cloak. Her head ached with a vibrant intensity, and a muscle in her leg cramped. She searched for Onmund among the survivors. He waved to her from the tip of the dragon's tail. She pushed past the crying and wounded, forcing herself to run at full pace to her lover. She gasped for breath and threw herself into his arms.

“Are you alright?” He said, hands on her shoulders. He checked her over.

“Yes.” She kissed him. Words...she had none. She could only thank the Night Mother for giving her courage, and protecting them from the dragon's magic.

They held each other for a few silent moments. She felt his body stiffen when a badly burned woman dragged her feet past them.

“I should heal her.” Onmund said quietly.

“No. Stay with me.” She whimpered.

He lowered his face close to hers. “The dragon is dead, Felina. Its my duty as a mage to heal others. Don't worry. We're safe now.”

He tore himself away and she bit down on her finger. They weren't safe. She'd lived through two dragon attacks already, and she knew there would be more.

The lifeless body of the beast lay next to her, large enough that it matched the tavern in height. A small part of her grieved for it. A creature so majestic did not deserve such a brutal death.

Felina knelt down by the lizard's tail. She wet her lips, and bit down on them hard. The iron taste of blood seeped into her mouth. Curious. Would she ever have the chance to see a dragon up close without being burned alive?

She reached out and placed her hand on the tail, its scales cold to the touch. She caressed its outline, and grinned. Such an honor.

She leaned over the tail and turned it on its side with both hands. A faint crackling sound came from the head. She studied the scales closer. Magnificent. The body burst into flames. She scrambled backwards. Gasps and screams livened the sadness in the air.

“By Sithis.” Felina whispered to herself. She didn't feel heat coming from the dragon's burning remains. A swirl of colors rose up from the flames, and entered inside her through her gaped open mouth. She gagged as the dragon's soul filled her belly and replenished her strength.

It ended when her mouth flapped shut. Her hands scooped up dirt. She glanced up at the shocked faces, especially that of her husband's. Embarrassed and disgusted that the creature's essence lingered in her throat, she vomited.

“Dragonborn.” A man said behind her.

Felina vomited a second time and felt better. She glanced up at the enormous skeleton in front of her, and wept.

Felina's stomach ached for the second day in a row. She knelt by a cluster of bushes outside of Riverwood's front entrance, and held a hand over her mouth. Nausea again. Her eyes watered and she spit up a clump of saliva. She needed the skooma, but none could be found in these parts. She dry heaved over the grass.

The journey from Falkreath to Riverwood had been less than a pleasurable one.

“You should really give up that stuff.” Onmund chewed behind her. “Want your piece of venison?”

She waved her hand in rejection of food. He didn't understand how serious her withdrawal sickness could be. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and returned to sit by him next to their campfire.

“You're pale.” He said, and licked the meaty grease off his fingers. “Sure you don't want that potion?”

“It won't help.” She curled up on the ground, and watched the smoke swirl from the crackling flames. Just like the dragon. She shut her eyes. The briny smell from the nearby river made her stomach turn again.

Onmund nudged her hip. “I know a healer in Whiterun. Danica. She healed my sister once when--”

Felina pushed his hand away and growled. “Leave me alone.”

The sound of his voice...the feel of his hands...his presence...it all irritated her at the moment.

Skooma...its all she wanted.

He sighed. “The Dragonborn of legend shouldn't also be a skooma addict.”

“And who says I am one?”

“Your body.”

She frowned. Why couldn't he just shut up? “I have no idea what a Dragonborn is.”

“I've explained it to you a million times. You can't keep lying to yourself about this.”

He stood up and picked up their wooden plates, carefully scraping off the leftover meat into the fire. She watched him with an emotional distance. He didn't deserve to have a wife like her.

“I'm heading to the river.” Onmund said, and adjusted the sash around his bluish-gold robes. “You should come, too. The water would feel--”

“Just go.” Felina snarled. “I can't take much more of your chatter.”

His lips straightened and his nose twitched. “Very well.”

He grabbed his satchel and stomped off towards the river. She waited until she couldn't hear his footsteps anymore before she sat up. Skooma. It eased her nerves...and her need to kill. She swallowed and blinked at the fire. No one knew that but her.

The thought of cool water against her burning cheeks lured her towards the river. Her husband washed at the edge of the bank. His milky skin and lean musculature excited her. She blushed.

“Come, love.” He motioned up at her. “Before the sun gets too hot.”

She pressed her lips together in a shy smile and walked down to him. He always forgave her bad attitude and wicked mistakes. She removed her shoes, lifted her tunic, and entered the cold river with a giggle. Relief danced in her husband's eyes, and he led her in the rest of the way until they were waist deep in water.

“Don't you feel better?” He asked and splashed her. She bit down on her lip and splashed him back.

But the play made her dizzy, and so she brought a hand up to her face to keep from vomiting.

“Still sick?” He hovered over her. She pushed him away.

“Of course! Can't you see how much I need the skooma?”

She wadded back towards the riverbank. A headache stopped her from going any further. She wanted the drug. And oh, what wouldn't she do for it now! She'd steal. Yes. She'd kill. Absolutely.

“Felina, maybe we should just get you some.”

His words brought her little relief. She wanted it now.

“And where do you think we'll find it?” She turned around and snapped at him. “I don't see any Khajit caravans around here.”

Onmund ran his hand through his dark hair. “This is all Cicero's fault.”

She made fists with her hands. “Its yours.”

With wide eyes, he shook his head and took a step back.

“You left me with him. Abandoned me. Do you know what he did? He drugged me for three days. I had been clean for so long. Its you I blame.”

“You're the one who sent a letter to your dearest mistress. I would have asked my family for the gold to bail you out of jail.”

“The family you've never introduced me to because you're ashamed of who I am?”

“Felina...”

She clenched her teeth and stomped her bare heel into the muddy ground. “You married a disaster.”

“No. I love you.”

“And I hate you!”

“That's not true.”

The craving spoke through her, and trampled all over his feelings. She lunged forward and pounded his chest with her fists. He tackled her to the ground. She squirmed under his strength but he subdued her. She cried, and he hushed her.

On her third day inside the jar, she decided to do something different. When the witch came in to feed her, she would eat the raw meat to regain her strength. Starvation would end her life sooner than being used in the experiment, and killing herself meant losing anyway. She didn’t like to lose--at anything--and so escaping from her captor was more about being the victor than staying alive.

Lieth pressed her tiny hands against the glass, her hot breath fogging the view of the laboratory underneath. From what she could tell, her jar was kept on a shelf in a corner of the room and across from the witch’s workbench.

She always came in with the meats at this time...although the little faery didn’t know exactly what time in the day that it was.

The soft glow of oil lamps scattered around the room did little to provide relief from the darkness. And Lieth wasn’t the only prisoner. Her yellow eyes slid to her right, then to her left. Those faeries had died of starvation days ago, but the witch kept their bodies in their respective jars. Such a cruel woman. Not even a burial did those poor Fae receive.

The muffled sound of keys jingling behind the laboratory door perked Lieth’s ears. Her heart pulsed in her mouth, and her stomach turned in anticipation. She would free herself this day.

The witch entered the room with a bucket of rotting meat, its scent so pungent it made the faery’s mouth water. Excitement overtook her, and she buzzed around inside her jar wild with hunger.

The young woman set the bucket down and walked over to a large rune carved out on the dirt floor. She whispered, and the room lit up with a magical light silvery and cool like that of the stars. She dumped the contents of the bucket on the workbench, chopping it all up with a chilled demeanor.

A mother. This, the faerie could tell by the swollen belly, tired lines, and constant disruptions which would make her leave the laboratory only to return with a tense energy. A hard working and intelligent woman, with waist-length black braids and a dark tone to her skin.

Intelligent because she knew magic, and all Fae knew that most humans were too stupid to grasp such a powerful concept.

The witch wiped her bloody hands on her paisley apron and looked straight at Lieth.

“Still alive? Remarkable.”

The faerie flew to the back of the jar, leaning against the cool glass with a raging hunger. For three days she refused to feed. Such stupidity. She had to eat in order to trick this woman. And everyone could be fooled, this she knew for sure now that her existence was confined to a filthy laboratory.

The witch opened the jar and tossed in a couple pieces of meat. They hit the bottom with a thud, and immediately Lieth flew down there, gorging herself without caring that this sustenance came from the hands of a murderer.

The woman laughed. “Oh, tiny one. If only you knew how important you are to the salvation of my people.”

Lieth’s cheeks stretched out with an abundance of meat, and she choked trying to swallow it all at once. Her frail body rejuvenated with stamina, and she felt warmth return to her hollow cheeks. But as she licked the last droplets of blood off her fingers, the witch yanked her out of the jar and into the musty air. She struggled, her wings fluttering to try and fly away, but the workbench was her destination.

Fear. Anger.

The faerie sucked in a breath, and blew out a colorful dust from her mouth. The witch shut her eyes and coughed.

“I hate when you do that!” She yelled, wiping tears from her eyes.

Lieth flailed in between the witch’s thumb and index fingers, but luck failed her.

Her bitty head slammed down on the old wood workbench, and she groaned from the overwhelming pain. The same as last time, and the time before that. How would she escape if she couldn’t fight back?

The witch hacked and coughed, looking angrily over at Lieth. “You faeries are insufferable. Do you really think I want you to die? No! If I could take your magic without causing your death, I would figure out a way to do that. Guilt...it eats at me.”

Lieth rolled over on her side, her transparent wings weak but allowing her the ability to fly off the workbench. The net caught her, and she fell under its weight. The witch stood over her, and for the first time in three days, the little faerie cried.

“Vomit, damn you!” The woman said, her teeth clenched.

The rotting meat made Lieth’s tummy hot and unsettled. As if on command, the food she had just stuffed herself with made its way back out.