Time.

The word barely held meaning outside of Nirn. The change was felt like a shift in the ether, a momentary breeze in the perfect stillness of a cold winter midnight, and just as quickly the silence returned. Her absence was but a flicker in the eternal cold flame of the Void, ever burning for the stream of souls that fed it it never ceased. The Night Mother sensed all her children, all at once, in worship, birth, treachery, death. Like the link a mother has with child alerting her when harm has befallen it, she knew when a Listener heard no more. But her presence was a constant, just further from her embrace. Her soul had always belonged to her no matter the distance, marked by Sithis at the moment of her emergence from the womb, and it always would be. Her presence became stronger, devout, repentant, but she would not receive a sign, a response, for the Night Mother only spoke to her Listener, and only spoke of those marked for death. The lives of mortals were fleeting and in this flicker were not the signs of betrayal, only momentary weakness- weakness the Night Mother may have deplored but for the foresight of her Dread Father. He knew his children, their intentions, fates, now and tomorrow. Her heart belonged to the darkness, choosing her was right, the time hardly relevant to any but those on Nirn. A Listener never stopped listening until they too were claimed by death.

Time...