WARNING: DRAGONBORN SPOILERS. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK

"Do you ever wonder if it hurts? Taking a dragon's soul like that?" Deirdre does not startle at the booming sound of an ancient voice. She follows the path of the dragon's soul with her eyes, the soul of the dragon she had slain, and follows the twisting orange power to the ghostly figure of Miraak. Dragon souls always reminded her of fire. A great and terrible power that warmed her to the core. A power that she could all too easily be consumed by.

"Often," she answers, as though she were talking to an old friend. Her voice echoes with less power than that of Miraak's and she can hear the weariness of it resonate against the stones. That weariness is something that the dragon priest does not overlook.

"Do you feel pity for them?" he says, disgust underlining his tone. That is the question that finally causes her to look at him. Her eyes meet his behind that gaudy gold mask of his and she wills her voice not to tremble.

"Sometimes I do," she says. "Other times, I feel as though I could absorb the soul of every dragon that has ever existed and still not ever be satisfied." He chuckles darkly and she gets the feeling that he is smiling at her from behind his mask. The thought makes her shudder.

"Do you consider yourself a hero, Dragonborn?" The question is a taunt, every word hanging heavy in the air between them.

"You know that I don't," she answers quietly.

"Yes," he says simply. "I do." Soon Miraak's ghost stands beside her. A chill washes over her and she takes in a deep gasping breath. His mere presence makes her feel overwhelmed by power and she is sure she will drown in it before ever besting him. His form begins to flicker in and out. It is becoming harder for him to project himself to her from Apocrypha. A ghostly hand reaches out to brush her hair and she can't fight the tremble of fear that shakes her body. She tells herself that he cannot touch her here, that she is beyond his reach, but his hand brushes the back of her neck and the fingers feel so frighteningly solid and warm against her skin.

"You are frail," he whispers. "Stupid. Kind-hearted fools have no business wielding the power granted to those who are Dragonborn." She swallows, willing herself to relax.

"Neither do self-obsessed milk-drinkers such as yourself. When we meet, you will know your better." The hand snakes around to the front her neck and the fingers tighten. A yelp escapes her only to be silenced by the ever vice-like grip of Miraak's hand. She feels his chest against her back and whimpers softly. For one single, horrible moment she thinks he broke free from Apocrypha and became a man again. That he is on his way to becoming a god. He's going to kill her right here, and the world will burn at his pleasure. He chuckles again, leaning down to hiss in her ear,

"I grow ever stronger, Dragonborn."

And as suddenly as he appeared, he is gone and Deirdre is left gasping for breath.

Of all the things I could be working on, it had to be Skyrim stuff.

Also, I really like Miraak and idefk why.