Hello, all!

No, I am not dead; yes, my other stories will be updated eventually.

For now, I have an Elder Scrolls one-shot for you all. The OC is a tiny vampire Bosmer named Terentia, who, for any non-history buff, was married to Marcus Tullius Cicero.

Get it?

Please note, that it is Semi-AU, as the vampire mentioned below is the Hero of Kvatch but NOT Sheogorath.

Briefly, what happened was that she managed to split Sheogorath and Jyggalag and became the Madgods Champion, rather than the Madgod himself; in return Sheogorath promised her a place in the Shivering Isles for all eternity after her death. Unfortunately, she had already become a vampire, so death was taking a long time for her; she has been settled in Skyrim for nearly fifty years prior to the events of the game.

And that is where the story begins.

- Razzella

BLUSH

|| One-Shot ||

Skyrim, Oblivion © Bethesda

Terentia, Tsol © Razzella

He was as mad as the last one.

I knew it even was I sat upon his carriage with him and his dead mother; listening to the way he praised her and spoke idly of his adventures – as a murderer, at that. Centuries had gone by since I had felt the tingle of madness pulling at me, and it brought a slow smile to my face to listen to the gibberish of the man. But just as the Madgod, there was that striking moment of clarity in his gaze that made me giddy; maybe I was just a glutton for punishment – as I surely should have learned my lesson ages ago when I left the Madgods realm – but I felt a familiar thump in my chest.

And similarly, a familiar ache when the madman dropped me off on the outskirts of Whiterun and waved his goodbyes. I hadn't had a taste of that kind of madness in far too long; I was almost willing to say since I had left the Shivering Isles. To which I was always welcome to return, according to the Daedric Prince, but I wasn't quite ready to go home yet.

There was something more holding me to Nirn – though I was uncertain of what it was. However, if there was anything I had learned during my brief time with the brotherhood back home, it was that I was a disturbingly good judge of things to come. And the madman who had been carrying the Night Mother – though I certainly wasn't going to inform him I knew as much – was definitely someone I would be seeing again, even if it meant seeking out the "new" brotherhood I had heard about here in Skyrim on my own.

I didn't honestly expect to be doing as much only a few weeks later, as I walked towards the city of Whiterun, but once I had assisted the Jarl, I was making my way to Windhelm.

The boy clearly had lost his mind on some level – no level of which I can ascertain, but he was most certainly mad. Children should not understand the concept of death so young; they certainly should not be praying to the Night Mother to send her children to do his bidding. But I saw the determination in his gaze and, well, a few days of travel later the old woman was dead and I was speaking with him again.

He had given me a plate as thanks – to which I wanted to laugh, but contained myself for the benefit of portraying the brotherhood. I may have only been part of the brotherhood for a short time, but I knew well enough that the leaders – though they were no longer living, to my sadistic satisfaction – would have wanted to maintain the shroud of mystery. Our family may have been driven to the brink of extinction, but I did what I could to honor them.

Of course, when I received a rather familiar letter – one with the Black Hand, to which I raised an eyebrow – I was expecting to be summoned. Or more personally greeted, as Lucien had done for me so many years ago in my Waterfront home. His death had haunted me for several years thereafter; upon realizing what had become of him I made sure to eliminate the entirety of the remaining Hand members. It took me a long while, but when the Purification was done I felt much more at peace.

I truly hope that the Night Mother found better leaders this time around.

I found myself waking in an abandoned house on the outskirts of Morthal; though this should have startled me, I was more frustrated that the woman had managed to kidnap me from my own home. I had been alive for long enough to know better than to let some cheap parlor tricks work on me – though I held fast to my façade of disinterest.

I was debating if I wanted to go through with this forced initiation – after all, it wasn't as though anybody gave me a choice – but instead I listened to her monologue and turned to examine the captives.

Truly, I was unsure which would have a price on their head, but in the end the "defiler of daughters" got me, and I decided the cat was most definitely the one wanted dead. I made it quick, though I think the sound of the body hitting the floor must have started the other two.

"The conniving Khajiit. Cat like that was sure to have enemies. It's no wonder you chose him."

I took the key and left without a backward glance.

I joined the brotherhood – again – and everything was relatively simple. It was child's play for me, and I befriended a small girl who had been alive nearly as long as I. It was nice to think of the old days, and even nicer that she seemed to recognize me as "The Champion of Cyrodiil". Of course, I requested she refrain from mentioning as much to the others, and life was simple.

I did not enjoy being part of the brotherhood again, per say, but I was not miserable. It was not nearly as nice as it had been in the old days, though something had compelled me to stay behind this time. I just accepted it and continued on my way.

I was ecstatic to see the Night Mother again – but more than that, I was excited to see her Keeper. Not nearly as excited as he was to see me, but it was still lovely to be so close to madness again.

"Oh, it's the pretty Bosmer! Thank you, thank you for helping my – our – mother and I." I wasn't sure why, but had I had a beating heart, it may have sputtered – or even worse, I may have blushed.

"It was an honor, Keeper."

I did not like Astrid, I realized slowly after Cicero's arrival.

I disliked her behavior towards the Night Mother – who even I recognized as sacred – and I really disliked her treatment of the Keeper. He may have been touched by madness, but I quickly realized he frequently had moments of clarity. Maybe not vocally, but in his eyes. I think I was the only one to notice, though.

I also noted that when speaking to others, he used third-person – though when he spoke to me, he used first. More often than not I wondered why that was, but I never thought to ask him aloud. Apparently my subconscious was more romantic than the rest of me; I frequently dreamed of different scenarios involving the madman – much in the way I dreamed of the Madgod within the first hundred years since leaving his realm.

When I was still a young vampire I had entertained my fancy for the Daedric Prince – hoped to someday cure my vampirism and join him in the Isles, which I still considered home. Sometimes I still fancied him and longed for the feeling of home his plane offered me – but over the time exposed to the madman, those dreams began to fade much faster than they had been.

I never thought to wonder why.

When Astrid instructed me to spy on Cicero, I was appalled. The idea of invading the Night Mother's Coffin was – forgive me, Mother – disgusting to say the least. My curiosity of overthrowing Astrid drove me to agree, though I doubt she knew at the time I would have betrayed her for the male. I doubt even I realized it at the time, come to think of it.

Recently the jester had been withdrawing from the group; rather than getting to listen to his stories, I was stuck listening to the mindless chatter of the others. The only companion I honestly enjoyed was Babette, and I feel as though she knew as much at the time, and so you can easily understand why I had thrown myself into my contracts and kept away from the rest of the family.

Which is why that evening, in the Night Mothers coffin, I was fixated on hearing the voice of a madman. However, he was not the only voice I heard; when the Night Mother spoke to me I realized what a predicament I had found myself in.

Well, actually, that may have been when I tumbled out of it and the man pounced me.

I feel slightly guilty that I could barely hear a thing he said – mostly due to those eyes. The clarity that was there made me feel light; I probably wouldn't have even noticed our compromising position had his hand not been – and oh my, his leg is to terribly close to – the blade at my throat distracted me from my momentary lapse in attention.

I think it was the first time I had truly been afraid of someone in a long time.

"Darkness rises when silence dies."

He was happy. Bitter, I think, but otherwise overjoyed – with me.

He was pleased with me.

Maybe that was why my emotions went haywire when Astrid wanted me to kill him – as if any of them mattered to me at all in comparison to my affections for the Jester. I think Babette was the only one to sense my incredulity, as she gave me shockingly gentle parting words on the subject. Either way, as I found myself making my way through the freezing sanctuary, my mind wandered to his journals. I was only meant to read the last one – but I read them all. The chance to get insight into the madman was too much to pass up; I had never felt such an ache for someone before.

I understood his madness, but… it wasn't true madness. It wasn't the madness of the people I had met wandering the Shivering Isles – it was different. Unique. Enchanting.

I followed along the path – walking with Lucien, who seemed to remember me, though he did not speak to me as often as he had in life – and his comment that Sithis didn't wish Cicero dead pleased me. I would never hurt the man, but it was nice to be reassured that my decision was the right one.

He begged for his life as if he truly expected me to hurt him. I stared at him for a long moment, and he met my gaze unwaveringly. Surely he realized by now I would never hurt him. Surely. I kneeled down across from him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"You're dead, understand? You died here." His eyes widened and I saw the wheels turning as I stood. Unwisely, I turned my back on the Jester and made my way back towards the entrance; feeling his gaze on me as I went. I heard his cheerful voice flowing behind me as I made my way back to the Falkreath Sanctuary.

The Night Mother saved me.

I don't know why; I'm not sure how, but she did. When it was all burning all I could think about was saving her – less for her and more for the assassin I had grown so fond of – but saving her none the less. But in the end, she saved me; I felt grateful to be spared the awful flaming death that would have graced me otherwise.

Then, I killed Astrid – and felt slightly guilty that I had no feelings of remorse for killing a Sister – and we made our new home in Dawnstar. It was bittersweet to realized that the Jester had vanished from the new home, but even as the ache in my chest grew I focused on making the sanctuary home for us. This was my duty now – I was the Listener, just as I was the Hero of Kvatch, and the Champion of the Madgod, and by this point, Dragonborn. I wonder if this was my destiny all along – to keep saving the world over and over for all of eternity. Facing odds that always seemed stacked against me; I decided that maybe it wasn't so bad.

As I contemplated this, I was once again pounced by a familiar red-head, who was practically giddy with the idea of killing me, it seemed.

The man was staring down at me with the look of madness that I knew hid his clarity and once again I lacked the ability to hear him for a moment in the relief that he was here and he was okay. I did, however, hear him mention how he would be willing to kill me; though another ache resounded through my chest, I simply smiled.

"Alright." The mist of madness cleared almost instantly and I was so pleased to bear witness to the phenomenon.

"Wh-What?"

"You can kill me," I said softly, watching as his wheels began turning again; his eyes narrowed slightly. "I have walked this plane for over three hundred years, Keeper. I saved my homeland as the Champion of Cyrodiil, and saved the planes of madness as the Madgods Champion – and now, years later I am called Dragonborn and have risen to the place of Listener in the Dark Brotherhood I served years before. I believe I have lived a full enough life to die with grace at the hands of a man I am fond of."

"… It seems I am not the only one touched by madness." He giggled. "And also, dear, sweet Listener may simply call me Cicero."

I'm not sure why I thought I saw what I saw flicker in his gaze, but the slight coloring of his cheeks made me feel light again.

"Then please, dear Cicero, call me Terentia."

I may not have known the extent of my feelings for Cicero then, but they became clear to me sometime thereafter.

It was the first time I would call things "right" in the brotherhood since I joined. It felt more as it did in the olden days, and I finally managed to feel slightly at home. Well, minus the fact I had grown even more aware of my affections for the man named Cicero – to which I wondered if such feelings were morally correct or not, considering half of the time his behavior reflected that of a child – and this kept me from being able to fully relax.

I quickly realized that despite my fascination with him on an intellectual level, I was also painfully attracted to him as a man. Oftentimes I don't think he realized my ogling was less-than-innocent, but then others, he would have those eyes if I was caught and his grin seemed so much less carefree. Rather, it was in those moments that I recognized the assassin – a rather charming one, from the dark promises that smirk of his seemed to make – that had went mad so long ago before.

I promised myself it was imagined – and that these thoughts were not the kind I should be having over a man who was half a child – and tried very hard to go about my business.

Oh, I tried so very hard.

"Listener!" I paused at the familiar voice, offering a smile to my frequent companion as he met me by the doorway to the sanctuary.

"May I accompany you on your contract?" It was the first time he had outright asked and I was not inclined to deny him. I noticed the increased frequency of clarity in his gaze since things had been set right and wondered if it was due to his socialization. After all, I had begun allowing him out on contracts so long as the Night Mother permitted her Keeper to be away. Perhaps a part of him that was lost was returning, now that he was allowed to serve his family as he pleased.

"Of course, Cicero."

The contract went well and we were returning home; I think that night when we made camp was when I realized that while he was still speaking gibberish and prancing around as a fool – his eyes had maintained their clarity. The fog of madness that had been there was fading more and more with each day and I was glad that he was recovering – if only in this one way.

I hadn't realized I was staring again until that dark smirk pulled across his face; I suddenly couldn't tear my eyes from his lips, even as I became flustered. Despite my age there was just something about him that managed to pull me back into behaving as a flustered young woman I appeared to be, and that behavior extended into me folding my hands into my lap and very nervously ringing them.

"Does the Listener fancy Cicero, perhaps?" I felt a shudder run up my spine at the tone of his voice – it was softer than the one he used to tease me so many times before, but oh so much darker. I may have rather liked the darkness in him; I wondered yet again what he was like before. If these glimpses that dried my mouth and sapped the air from my lungs were any indication, I discovered quickly that I wanted more.

Despite the look of clarity and dark tone of voice, the thing that set off most of my red flags was that he was speaking of himself in third person. Considering he had quickly discarded such behavior when speaking to me, hearing it again put my guard up.

Realizing I was still staring at his lips, I quickly turned my attention elsewhere, both unable and unwilling to answer his question.

"Oh, humble Cicero did not realize vampires could blush." He snickered and I tried to give my most unbothered expression; shortly thereafter he dozed off.

I read his journal.

I knew I shouldn't have but when I sent him out on his contract that day I ran almost straight for the little leather book. I'm not certain why, but having seen his earlier ones I couldn't resist getting just a little more insight to Cicero. Again, I was wondering if my obsession was morally correct – and then placated myself with the knowledge that nearly no obsession was morally correct in the first place. At least this one was out of affection rather than a desire to hurt the poor, sweet Jester.

5th of Rain's Hand, 4E 201

I found the pretty Bosmer again – to think she was a Sister all along! She seems so quiet and kind, though I wonder if she realizes the Pretender is going to doom us all. She doesn't seem new – but she doesn't seem old! It's quite a strange concept for poor Cicero.

I blinked. Once. Twice. Three times. It was hard for me to imagine he had noticed me straight from the beginning of our time together; for some reason that made my heart clench.

7TH of Rain's Hand, 4E 201

The pretty Bosmer won't stop watching me.

I don't think she realizes how obvious she is being; if the Pretender is really so concerned she should watch him herself! Either way, Cicero is concerned she may also be a Pretender – just like the rest of them. They don't seem to care for poor Cicero or the Night Mother.

Well. That is embarrassing. I brushed my onyx locks behind one ear as I smiled slightly. I was definitely not being obvious in my watching him – in fact, half the time my other Siblings didn't notice me shifting through the darkness of our Sanctuary. It seems as though our Mothers Keeper was quite an observant assassin.

13th of Rain's Hand, 4E 201

I can't trust any of them! Oh, how they have fallen from the Old Ways – even the pretty Bosmer and un-child. It makes me sad to find our new home is not much of a home at all.

20th of Rain's Hand, 4E 201

That damned Pretender! How dare she send the pretty Bosmer to do her bidding! The poor, sweet little Listener didn't know what to do what Cicero prepared to kill her – oh, how he does regret frightening her so.

27th of Rain's Hand, 4E 201

Oh, oh my. I hadn't meant to attack them the way I had, but oh, my poor Mother. My poor, sweet Night Mother. How am I to keep her if the Keeper is away?

The Listener was the one they sent after me, and oh, that did such funny things to poor Ciceros heart. He didn't want to hurt his Listener – but he didn't particularly want to die, either. So he may have played to his Listeners compassion just a teensy bit, but she let him go free!

15th of Second Seed, 4E 201

They're all dead, the Listen– Terentia said. Everyone but me, her, the redguard, and the un-child. This is oddly pleasing but somehow sad. Cicero rather liked the spider.

23rd of Mid Year, 4E 201

Oh, the dear, sweet Listener does not know I know her secret! Such a silly concept – Cicero knows so many secrets. She thinks I do not notice – do not see! – when her eyes stray too long to me!

Oh, such a silly Listener indeed.

When Cicero returned I noticed I was having a harder time avoiding him that usual – particularly at night. Of course, despite how uncomfortable I found myself with his unwavering attention, I also had to wonder if he knew I read his journal. Did I put it back in the right place? Did I leave any signs? I didn't think I had, but his grin had become less-than-innocent nearly constantly and it did such funny things to me when I noticed.

I think what hit the nail on the head was the evening he winked at me.

Not that it was undesired, but somehow garnering his attention in such a way sent me running. I wasn't entirely sure why I did it, but I found myself locking the doors to my private chambers that evening – and every evening thereafter. Not out of fear for myself, but rather a fear of something else entirely; I was unwilling to acknowledge the things he did that twisted knots into my stomach any longer.

I may have forgotten he was an assassin; apparently he did not like my avoidance of him. I found myself in a rather compromising position when the Jester finally tired of our game; I woke to the sound of the door locking shut behind him. My natural instinct was to grab my dagger, but the moment my hand wrapped around the hilt I was firmly pinned to the bed and staring up at the eyes of my Mothers Keeper.

"Why is it Terentia is avoiding sweet Cicero?" He asked – so simply, as if I could even hope to answer him when I wasn't entirely certain of the answer myself. The most obvious response would be that I needed space to myself – but from the grim smirk on his face I knew he wouldn't accept that answer. The next would be that I was confused, but that would lead to us hashing out what exactly I was confused about. Or, I could simply say I lov–

His lips were pressed to mine before the thought even finished and I was effectively stunned. There was the clatter of my blade – which I had been gripping tight enough to turn my knuckles white – hitting the stone floor as my eyes fluttered closed. It was a soft kiss – softer than any of my dreams had conjured up for me – and despite all of my inner turmoil, I responded to it easily.

"Terentia think's too hard."

I spent the entirety of his human life as his lover from then on.

He hadn't wanted to be a vampire, and as much as watching him age hurt me, I knew there was nothing I could do. He joined our family in the Void only a short ten years after our first kiss, and even as I sat with Mother and my Speakers, I wondered if there would ever be a Keeper as trustworthy as he.

As a vampire, I was stuck as the Listener. Babette had become one of my Speakers, as the girl was one of the few I trusted enough to allow into my inner circle, but Nazir had passed away several years earlier. Myself and my eternal companion watched as our family aged and passed on, or died in the line of duty. This continued for another long five hundred years as we rebuilt the Dark Brotherhood in the Old Ways.

Until the day she died as well; I was left alone for the first time in a long time.

My Speakers now were requesting I appoint her replacement, but something within me had snapped. I was over eight-hundred years old, and I was so tired of this life. Despite having served the Night Mother and Sithis so long, I knew as well as she that I would never rejoin my family in the event I died. My soul had long ago been promised to the Prince of Madness.

I think when I approached Mother that night, she had known long before this day would come.

"Sweet Mother," I spoke slowly – quietly, as not to wake the others in the Sanctuary. A warmth surrounded me that I knew to be the Night Mothers embrace; I allowed myself to revel in it now. "I – I have grown tired, Mother, so very tired."

"I know, my child. I saw it in you when the news of Cicero's passing reached you; you were so very strong to continue leading your Siblings."

I wanted to cry. I had not cried since that day so painfully, agonizingly long ago, but suddenly the tears had come and I couldn't stop them. My feelings for the Jester had become stronger than even I had been prepared for; even though we never married, it was as though I had lost a limb. There was a part of me gone that I would never be able to reach again – and somewhere inside me I wondered if it was punishment from another unseen force that I would love two madmen in my long life, and live long enough to lose both of their affections. One lost to me forever in the Void – and another who has long since forgotten small, insignificant, mortal me.

"You know that I will– will not be able–" I found myself choked and, feeling much like a child, rubbed my face free of tears on my sleeves.

"Yes, my daughter. I know you will not be able to join us in the Void – as does your father." Her tone was soothing, and I could feel her warmth still. It intensified momentarily and I found myself feeling strangely serene. "Your service to us shall not be forgotten though, dear Terentia."

It was then she comforted me and I couldn't help the bitter smile that fell across my lips. I would forever be the Listener to a family I could never see again. I would never see Gabriella, or Lucien, or Nazir, or Babette – but much more importantly, I would never see my dear, sweet Cicero again.

I made my way to my quarters that night feeling more ancient than I had in a very long while.

Once I appointed my new Speaker – a small Bosmer named Tsol – I made my way to Solitude. The ancient place was still bustling, though all their troubles had died long ago. The Blue Palace was somewhat familiar to me now, but this wing was not. I had heard many, many years ago that a madman's master was here; it hadn't taken me long to realize who exactly that was. As one can expect, I had avoided it like the plague.

But now, I needed to find the Madgod. If he would release me from my place in his Isles, I would be able to join my family. I suspected it would take more than a bit of convincing to do so, however. He would probably throw a tantrum, though I wasn't certain if I should fear it or not.

It didn't take me long to find him – or complete the task he designated to me.

No, it wasn't until after I had completed those that the hard part came; as expected, Sheogorath threw quite a verbal tantrum over the whole affair. It had been so long since I had heard his voice that I almost let myself get lost in it. Almost.

"My Lord, please." I was very meek. Very old. Very tired. I think he noticed the dramatic change in me, then; realized while I still proudly wore the title of Champion for him, I was no longer the same spritely young Bosmer he had known years ago. Definitely not the one who had teased him and gave him lip over every quest he gave me.

"My, my," He said slowly, watching me with those – admittedly beautiful – cat-like eyes. "I didn't think the little Jesters death would hit you so hard, lass." Those words hit me harder, for some reason. The idea that he had been watching me – watching my mortal life unfold – was… strangely comforting. Soothing. Despite him being a Daedric Prince, I had always tried to humanize him during my time with him; I had always tried to find the things I could connect with. It seems I hadn't been wasting my time after all.

"I'm surprised you know about that." I commented softly, feeling the small smile pull across my lips. He, naturally, blubbered out some nonsense before calming once again; I noted the soft pink shade dusting his cheeks.

"Of course I know! I couldn't just let my Champion go gallivanting off with one of those other daedra, y'know. Too dangerous – oh, too dangerous indeed. Apparently I wasn't payin' close enough attention, though, seein' as ya' wanna follow that fool to the Void now." He harrumphed at the end of his little spill and I couldn't help but laugh.

Oh, how I laughed and laughed. Until I didn't.

Sheogorath did give me his word, in the end.

I had hugged the ancient daedra and he spluttered out protests through most of the intimate gesture; awkwardly patting my back when he realized I wasn't going to let go until he responded properly. He may not have loved me the same way I loved him so long ago, but knowing he cared even a little was enough for me.

He cared enough to watch over my life, and that was good enough.

He had informed me that if I changed my mind after "prancing around in that cold dark place for a few centuries" he would always welcome me home into the Isles – "and maybe even your damned Jester too, since ya' seem so taken with 'im" – and then he was gone.

Naturally, the first person I told was Mother, who was understandably pleased. I tried to discuss with her who my replacement would be when I finally did fall, and she had remained perfectly silent about it. That was fine by me; I took to training the initiates more often than going out on contracts. It was important that they be successful assassins, and I would not leave this plane until I was certain it was safe.

I blinked several times when Tsol approached me, seeming quite flustered with the news of hearing the Night Mother three years later.

I think she expected me to be angry, but rather than that all I could do was hug the poor girl. It may have scared her to find me being so emotional about it, but I was happy to know that my time as Listener had come to an end – after serving the Dark Brotherhood for five-hundred long, lonely years, I knew I could finally pass on into the Void and our home be safe.

Of course, this did not stop me from reaching out to our Night Mother to be made certain. Her warmth surrounded me as it had done many times, though it seemed somehow cooler now.

"You are free to join your family in the Void, my daughter. Tsol will lead the Dark Brotherhood into a new age, and you may finally rest."

That was the last time I heard the Night Mother.

I found myself hugging the young girl again the next day, fighting back tears now. She seemed terrified and apprehensive and all I could do was laugh at the nostalgia it brought me seeing her as confused as I had been so many years ago.

"You are Listener, now, Tsol. We need to inform our family of this wonderful news." She seemed uncertain, but I smiled brightly to her.

"It's okay to be frightened. I'm sorry you'll have to figure this all out for yourself," She attempted to interrupt in a quick stutter, but I raised my hand. "When I heard the Night Mother for the first time, I had only the Keeper and one vampire as old as I to stand beside me. I leave you with your elder Speakers – and the Night Mother herself." This seemed to soothe her slightly, though she was still trembling like a leaf.

"You'll do just fine."

I offered her vampirism shortly after we told our family, and the young girl accepted. It gave her a slight advantage in the event some jealous initiate or – as much as I loathe to say it – an ambitious Speaker decided to oppose her. She was young, and she was smart, but she was still but a child in comparison to some of the hardened assassins in our midst; I couldn't leave her behind with no true allies to be seen.

So I acted as her adviser for a year thereafter, despite the Night Mother informing me I could rest. I helped her in appointing a Keeper – as I had not had one since my dear Cicero passed. I taught her to use her abilities wisely, and left her behind all my earthly belongings. I impressed enough knowledge to her as I could in such a short time, and by the time the year was up, I was certain she would do just fine.

I still spoke to Mother, despite never hearing a response; one night I asked her if the new Listener could be the one to end my life.

No response.

I had an idea shortly thereafter; preformed the Black Sacrament that evening when all were asleep. The Listener was informed by Mother, and rather than inform her Speakers, she joined me herself in the main hall. Luckily, the others had awoken by this time to bear witness to what was about to happen.

"You– You preformed the Black Sacrament?" Tsol questioned slowly – though she was less unsure now as she had been, she still seemed fairly jittery around me in particular.

"I did," I said softly, giving her a slightly devious smile. "I have a contract for you, Listener."

I was certain she would have grown pale by this time if she had a beating heart, and judging by the whispers of the initiates, they were just as confused as she. I waited for her to address me as she should – as an assassin would any other client – and after a moment she seemed to gather herself.

"Who is it you want dead, Sister?"

"I want you to kill me, Listener."

The reaction was not immediate, but I saw the color drain from most of the others in the rooms faces almost simultaneously. Tsol paused and I knew from the look in her eyes Mother was speaking to her; oh, I longed to hear her voice again. The young Bosmer looked very sad for a moment as she looked at me, and I offered her a softer smile.

"Mother has heard your request," She said quietly as she approached; the small female wrapped her arms around me in a tight embrace. "And she approves."

"She says, 'I'll see you soon, my daughter.'"

The blade didn't hurt as Tsol plunged it into my heart.

The cold embrace I had always expected was relaxing; it almost felt as though I was simply falling asleep. The frightening part was when my thoughts halted – it was only for a moment, but it was absolutely horrifying.

I woke up warm; it took me several seconds to realize it was because I was wrapped up in someone's arms. Familiar and comforting, it didn't take me long to recognize the patterned clothes he had on, much less the strands of his auburn hair brushing my face as he curled around me.

His soft snoring made me smile brightly as I nuzzled myself into him further, allowing for the near-silence to continue as long as possible. Well. That was the hope anyway. The shrill, child-like cry of joy startled both myself and the man holding me into up-right positions – though I was the first to feel Babette wrap her smaller arms around me. It was unexpected to see the vampire – or, former vampire, I corrected as I noticed her loss of fangs – so overjoyed and, well, excited. But her shrill cry alerted the others to my arrival apparently, as we were soon joined by Astrid and Arnbjorn; more rapidly, Garbiella, Festus, Nazir, and Veezara.

Of course, it was then I realized I was as naked as the day I was born; for the first time in centuries, I felt heat flood my cheeks.

"Oh, humble Cicero did not realize vampires could blush."