3 tiny Zerith-var in a trench coat

Tsavani was adopted as a kitten by Erendil, an Altmer merchant. Her mother had offered her in exchange for enough septims to start up a new caravan, after all, one kitten was a small price to pay for the future of seven others. Besides, her mother had figured, Tsavani would've lived a more comfortable life inside a mansion anyway. As far as anyone was concerned, this was a win-win situation. She was right, in the end, Tsavani was warm, well-fed and safe under a sturdy roof. It was more than you could say about the poor sods trying to make a living outside the city walls.

These days, Tsavani doesn't think about her family very often, there wasn't any point in dwelling on it. Family was for fools who needed a net to fall back on, she tells herself. Tsavani was not a fool. Erendil made sure of that. Her job was easy. Just be at the right place, at the right time-- whether it was captivating an audience on stage or standing in front of a blade, Tsavani would serve this family with her life.

She was an extension of Erendil's will, if he wanted someone dead, they'd be floating in a river by morning. If he wanted the ear of wandering trader, they'd be wrapped around her finger before they knew it. At some point, she could sense an order before he even thought about it.

She was everything Erendil asked of her, and yet... She watched his family closely. It wasn't anything out of the ordinary, a son who drops by every now and again, and a daughter who was always cooped up in her studio. She watched as they talk over dinner, watched as the daughter spilled wine over her skirt and laughed it off-- How nice it must feel to know you can afford to make mistakes? To know you could fall and still have someone be there to catch you? She watched Erendil smile and offer her a handkerchief.

Tsavani wonders why he never offered her the same grace. The daughter followed her around the mansion quite often, it made sense, she was the only person around that was actually her age. Tsavani indulged in her desires, that was her job, after all.

She often asked for company. Falen was her name-- or was it Falin? She can't remember. Tsavani didn't care. It was grating, being around her. She was clumsy, she constantly had her head in the clouds, and Tsavani always had to pick up after her.

There was only one thing she was actually good at, really.

Falen had a talent for painting. Tsavani was her favorite muse.

You're beautiful, Falen would tell her. I know, came Tsavani's reply.

It was strange, seeing herself through her eyes. The portrait wasn't perfect. She wasn't perfect. Falen insisted she painted everything she liked about her,Tsavani took it to mean she didn't like how she wore her hair.

She had a knack for that, twisting Falen's words into something ugly and crude. A bad habit, Erendil liked hiding critiques under flowery language, Falen preferred to say what she actually meant. Tsavani never got used to that. Maybe she never will. Falen was a dreamer. She'd hide Tsavani under the covers and whisper about stories in her head. About distant futures she wanted to chase after. Tsavani was always in the equation, and she often found herself dreaming along with her.

Maybe one day I can be part of the family, Tsavani whispers. Falen looked at her incredulously, but you already are?

Hah! You're a terrible liar.

I'm not lying. You're family to me.

Is that so? How nice. Now, if only your father thought so too.

It was stupid.

She did everything right, didn't she? Picture-perfect Tsavani. Not a hair out of place and yet here she was, eating scraps off the dining room floor while Erendil and his family feasted like kings.

She agonizes it over supper, delegated to the servants' quarters like some lowly housekeeper. Why does she have to work twice as hard for even a sliver of recognition? It's a little unfair, isn't it?

It is, one of the maids agreed, you've worked so hard, cub. I think a change is in order.

And so, the maid asked her, What would you give for a seat at that dining table?

Tsavani leaned closer, Everything.

In hindsight, perhaps Tsavani should've clarified that she wasn't being literal. Perhaps she should've been more suspicious, but can you blame her? She was desperate. The maid seemed to know what she was talking about, but Tsavani supposes that's why she folded as easily as she did. If you know what motivates a person, you can get them careless enough to make mistakes. A valuable lesson for any bard, and one she likely wouldn't forget anytime soon.

The maid told her Erendil will be killed at the next soirée.

The maid told her Tsavani wouldn't survive night, weak as she was.

The maid has a bottle in hand. Drink this, she says, when the full moons rise, you will have the strength to overcome any opponent.

Tsavani believed her. She kept the bottle in a breast pocket on the night of the soirée.

Tsavani is a fool.

Tsavani can't help but laugh when she looks back on it.

How embarrassing it was to be deceived when not once did the maid tell a lie.

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