Northglen varies little from my recollections, perhaps suspended in a stasis of my childhood. Oddly, everything felt so much taller, so much wider. Halcyon Lake used to appear like an endless mirror of water before my eyes, but now I feel like the tiny island is a decent strideâs away. An alteration spell could take me to that forlorn rise of ancient Aylied arcs if I felt curious enough to explore--and I admit having the temptation to do so. The wind from Hammerfell blows in, harkening a spring that brings verdant life to every sleeping trees. The sun is much brighter here, even after a night of snowfall in Skyrim when the white drifts settle beneath a cerulean noon sky. Wearing sleeves over my arms is increasingly uncomfortable, but necessary in concealing the deadric branding. A few of the locals jest at my choice in attire, but no further questioning arises. I do not seem to be recognizable. All is well, from what I hear rumor of, though I've come to learn that I shouldn't worry about you. Edmond Descoteaux must have made his acquaintance as expected, hearing that the name Gardinier dropped over a steel trap. Townspeople have even asked for his public opinion and the man simply stated that the name is a false identity. He looks in your direction however, seeking answers when a crow picks at the eagle's tail. You should know where I am when his gaze is turned, yes? Interestingly enough, I found that his relationship with his sister--my mother--was very close, or at least painted to be. I have a strong suspicion that he wasn't truly benevolent towards her, it wouldn't be consistent to the experiences we have had with family thus far. Though I am aware that this proves nothing. Her death was announced a few days after my so-called abduction by House Telvanni, a very convenient time frame for one that was so reluctant to take a seat of power. He must have not known about me, perhaps my father at least did good by that. I would have been his next target. Cossette was wed to my father, my father found dead, an opportunity brewed like a flash storm on the horizon. Instead of manipulating his sister through a political marriage, he now had to take the reins himself. Perhaps she didn't wish to be apart of this, but Edmond insisted. I made this entire vision of his possible with one swift movement of a scalpel⌠Which brings me to the realization of how I must end it. If the title of High Lord truly belongs to me by rite of blood, and Edmond was only riding upon my actions, he is the one who must step down. I suppose I can't make any assumptions yet but something assuring stirs within my mind. I'm not entirely sure what it is but it feels intensely right to follow. Do you think I should follow it? Sometimes I feel like I wish I had been able to take my father's memories like I had with others. There's a strange ghost of him following me; figuratively, that is. Unless these crows are some manifestation of that. I'm not entirely sure about them, but againâŚI sense benevolence. My mind has been stable, but the being is still there. I can use Hermaeus Mora to unwittingly give me answers when I need. Thinking of you, Songbird.
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Itâs hard for Adelein to hate anyone, and not because sheâs compassionateâbecause sheâs notâ but because she canât often be bothered to expend that amount of emotional energy on most people. Her father, however, is probably the person she hates not only the most, but also the only mortal being she hates. Even though heâs long gone, it still unsettles her how much she canât let her anger over him go.Â
đ- someone my muse trustsÂ
Not the most trustworthy person, as some have come to find out, but Narcisse is very understandable to Adelein. The two know a lot of secrets about each other that led to a personal investment. The reason why Adelein trusts her is derivative of how much she cares for Narcisse, however; exposing her vulnerabilities to another so that she can watch her back and vise-versa. They are truly unstoppable with that trust.
[How are things between you and Narcisse now? Do you see yourself remaining together for a long time or are you concerned that you two will go your separate ways in due time?]
âItâs⌠going surprisingly well. A bit strange to address but we both seem to have an unspoken accord on how we feel about one another. Itâs become an understanding shared between a sinple glance or a touch. At times we can sense the other preparing to meantion the development at hand and we take turns to respectfully silence our concerns.â
âFrom the night that she helped take me home, after the first time weâŚshowed affection, it became apparent that we couldnât leave each otherâs side. Sheâs left her roost in Solitude to stay here, where the prying eyes of our political enemies searched aimlessly to uncover the truth of our fates. We are safe here, for the moment. Using this precious time to tactically set our peices into place. I know that eventually she will wish to fan her wings and take flight away from Skyrim and be rid of it. As I catch a glance of that yearning sense in the jade of her eyes, I too feel the need to follow Narcisse towards a new horizon.â
Adelein returned the paper to the journal for safe keeping, it hardly concerned her that Mychen-Zel had slightly creased it. Like a mirror Adelein was able to look upon the effects of heartbreak in third person; knowing that it was something she was capable of despite the complete lack of sympathy for this particular moment.
Despite the dissonance, a small part of her consciousness wished to be able to truly understand his pain. To console a person in their troubles instead of feeling absolutely nothing. Adelein had yet to mourn over any one person yet. The numbness was a reminder that she was still a stranger to this world.
The crow flew away towards the west as the breton gathered her items and went inside the tower to spend time with the the noblewoman. Somehow the need to convene with her was derived of cathartic reasons. The conversation with Mychen-Zel lingered for the rest of the night as she momentarily put aside reading further into the Gardinier journals.
---------
The anguish within the dying forest had not gone unnoticed, a flock of crows gathered as the night grew silent. The dead limbs of sapped trees shattered as they attempted to land en masse. Forming a hoard of black feathers and twinkling eyes like the sky itself. They were silent for a moment, before an audience of cries attempted to grab Mychen-Zel's attention. A few skipped through the grass, nearing his proximity. One particularly gallant bird presented a small piece of paper within it beak. It uttered a noise until the mer took it.
Within the folded sheet was three words, purposefully made unrecognizable by whomever sent it.
'Come to Markarth'
The book fell into the wooden box with an unceremonious thud. A rustle of papers stirred as Adelein noticed the remaining letters stuffed under the space that the object occupied. The wax seals snapped as she unfolded the parchment addressed to her location. As always, the caravan wrote ahead of time to assure that their arrival was punctual.
A thought crossed her mind like a recurring dream. A familiar concept that barely held its meaning. Adelein could perceive the feeling of gold within her hands as it fell between the gaps of her fingers. The weight of precious metal had little meaning to her past self, but now it felt necessary. Without ambition, the coin had nowhere to go. The breton was a crow that hoarded an item simply because of its lustrous texture. However, now she was tempted to place it towards a new aspiration. A goal outside the stagnance of her past self.
It was by no astonishment that her family was so familiar with corvid creatures. There was no more fitting animal to represent a lineage of people that stowed away collections of scintillating secrets. Adelein gazed upon her open palms in lucid contemplation, ruminating what she read within the journal.
So her last name was synonymous with âtransparencyâ and âhonest workâ. The idea triggered an audible chuckle, a sound that escaped from the bretonâs lips almost uncontrollably. However, the story that Adelein derived greatly contrasted the witch and the stonemasonâs legacy. Gardinier was synonymous with secret societies, ambiguous rulers, and complicated politics. Most importantly they were rumored to be involved with the Primeval Seekers that organized Tamrielâs eldest cult to Hermaeus Mora. âWretched zealotsâ, was a more suitable term.
How equally horrid and satisfying was it to fill in this information. And yet there was still many articles to sort through. Adelein closed the letter receptacle and re-locked the spell, later in the night she would come back to sneak the book past Narcisse.
She re-entered the tower to spy the noblewoman carefully washing her hands of blood as the last vial was filled. A stray drop streamed from the dangling arm that protruded from the sheet, a cold lifeless body laid flat against the slab. Each container was filled to the brim with repugnant black blood and carefully arranged within wooden crates. Again, Adelein found herself with more gold for this reagent than she could ever comprehended using. The side effect of pursuing a lucrative subject for the sake of knowledge.
It was a distraction from the arduous task of rekindling the Godâs Thought. Even with the broken pieces replaced and all the assets in order, it wasnât functioning with the same precision as it did before. Adelein ended every night with a frustrated lack of success and non-functioning calibrations. However, it wasnât affecting her overall disposition as of late. It was depressing to have made something great and realize itâs function was purely serendipitous, but her abasement wasnât allowed to fester in isolation. Narcisse was here, and she continued to be there without showing signs of dissatisfaction. Adeleinâs pessimism expected her to leave at any moment, but each morning the noblewoman remained next to her in a physical proximity that neither of them dared to question. It was comforting, completing.
Their eyes met casually, and for a racing second Adelein had forgotten that she spent nearly fifteen minutes outside.
âItâs pleasant outside. I apologize for taking so long.â
An intrepid question gathered on the horizons of Adeleinâs mind like a foreboding thundercloud. The bretonâs slate colored eyes held her glance towards Narcisse with a sense of bitter-sweet satisfaction. She cared for her deeply enough to know that this tower was a cage. Then, her gaze then shifted to the Godâs Thought, itâs dysfunctional state was a cruel reminder of her failures. However, the lingering reflections of Adeleinâs own noble lineage sparked a sudden epiphany. An idea struck her like a bolt of lightning.
She recalled taking the blueprints from the Gardinier library before being whisked away to Morrowind. It was possible that another machine was made and used by the Primeval Seekers to cure ailments caused by Hermaeus Moraâs influence. If it existed, it had to be there; and it was likely that the notes within the journal had proof of that. All of the reasons to stay in Skyrim dissolved like clods of soil in water.
Perhaps Adelein would go to Weyrest with Narcisse and ruminate the idea of returning to Evermore. To find whomever sent this collection to her and reclaim the long forgotten details of her history. The idea was harrowing, but necessary. Adelein knew that she couldnât exist under the shadow of this fear for much longer. Â
âIâm going ask the caravan to to recruit a moving team in a few weeks. I trust their subtleties enough to take my belongings to High RockâŚI might as well leave it all in the empty Gardinier estate for now. We should depart to Weyrest soon, shouldnât we?â
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Adelein descended the spiraling stairs of her tower, trailed by the raven haired woman in the midst of a rhetorical explanation. Their thoughts manifested in idle chatter throughout the passing days, a pleasant addition to the otherwise stifling ambience of the observatory. The bitterness of their past dissolved, as if they both relived their first meetings within another Kalpa.Â
A pair of eyes emerged from the fetid pool of water near the newly refurbished Godâs Thought. The evidence of the Telvanni wizardâs attack was no more than a unsettling memory. A single blink and the lurker beast resubmerged itself, disinterested in the non-threatening activity of those it loyally guarded.
âHmâŚâ Narcisse made a thoughtful sound, much like the first note of a melody. Adelein waved her hands with the essence of magicka to illuminate the study. A faded grey sheet covered the shape of a human upon the stone slab. Specks of blood dappled the fabric as vials of liquid black substance littered the floor. The noblewoman was absurdly--but pleasantly content in the last few weeks that passed. She looked over Adeleinâs collection of surgical tools and selected a scalpel for herself, watching the light gleam from the edge of a viciously sharpened blade. âAnother day of this, non? The caravan should be here shortly.â
âAlready?â Adelein replied with slight disbelief. The sound of a leather cover cracked open as the she leafed through the pages of her logbook with a sigh. â...Truth be told. I did not check for letters in the past two days. Distractions I suppose.â
The word âdistractionsâ brought upon half a smirk, a rare shift in Adeleinâs usual expression. She intended for that to be a harmless jest towards Narcisse. The journal was laid upon the nearest desk as Adelein pushed past the curtain separating the entryway from the study. The silhouette of her willowy form traveled towards the door, a momentary pause to add further remark.
â...but such distractions conveniently remind me of what slipped my mind.â
The light of the morning sun pierced the darkened curtains as the hatch clicked open. The shape of the conjurer departed into the circular opening of daylight, conscientiously shutting the door behind her. The vines wound up he base of the pillar with determination, hardy filigree that feed from the soil below. Adelein gently pushed aside the leaves that obsured the door to her tower, taking steps toward the wooden letter receptacle that she left out for the crows to drop messages into.
Two taps with the tip of her fingernail, then three after a couple second pause. A quiet caw echoed within the trees as her companions noticed her, however they were not quite as vivacious in their personalities this morning. The birds flitted their tails but remained close to one-another as if they hoarded a collective secret. Adelein felt for the magicka that twisted within the wooden mailbox, like the tumblers of a lock setting into place. Her eyes wandered over the murder skeptically as the latch fell open.
Something felt out of place. The tinge of energy was misaligned in the most subtle way. Quickly, Adelein searched for a destructive rune within the wooden frame before it could be set off. Sealing off her own spell to siphon the supply of magicka.
--but there was nothing. There was no sign sabotage of a the magical sort, but the distinct texture of old leather and uneven paper brushed against the conjurer's fingertips. The presence of such an object sent a chill up her arm, raising goosebumps upon her skin. Nothing more than a psychosomatic reaction to whatever it could possibly be. Oddly, the weight of the object was obviously too heavy for a crow to carry, Â somebody had to have tampered with the magic seal to open it, but there was no clear sign of disturbance. Â
She removed her hand. For once, the conduit to the realm of forbidden knowledge did not wish to willingly explore the abyss of uncertainty. There was hardly a soul that had witness her unlock the mailbox, not even Naricsse was granted that trust yet.
âSomebody was here last night.â The conjurer spoke out loud.
For a moment an expression of guilt could have been personified upon the crowâs beady black eyes. With curiosity dancing alongside an unexplained feeling of unease, Adelein faced them. Her face became pallid, thinly veiling the consternation that formed in the pit of her stomach. The crows movement became erratic, as they flock moved closer towards each other in nervous tension. The sight of Adeleinâs stoney gaze did not break for a solid few seconds as she cast her non-verbal interrogation. The âeyesâ of the corvids were meant to keep watch of her tower, and here she had doubt of their loyalty.
The item still remained, however. She could not let it stay despite the feeling of tension that followed the idea of viewing whatever it was. Adelein felt a familiar anxiety without cause to represent it, like the feeling of being watched when one presumes that they are alone.
âHow oddâŚâ Adelein uttered the words to herself softly, gaining courage to reach her hand into the box once more. Tentatively her fingers met with the shape of a book, presumably a large journal as the uneven parchment was bound together from odds and ends of different ideas and observations. Her own personal booklets were very much the same, worn from the oils of her hands and dog-eared on specific pages. Without a single glance, the visual of this object had already manifested within her imagination.
The corner met the light, a leather book stained with red dye that could barely contain the parchment within. Adelein was careful to hold this enigmatic object with both hands, as it was only protected by a thin strip of silk. The decorative touch only served to barely obscure the design upon the cover.
A crowâs chortle broke the silence, a sharp strain of wooden panels followed as the breton almost lost the support of her knees. The mailbox supported her fall, bending from her weight as she righted herself. Holding the item against her chest in desperation to quell her growing apprehension, Adelein made her way into the fenced off corner of the garden. The cloth remained over the title, but below it a familiar shaped emerged like a searing brand forever burned into her mind she crawled through the tunnel of overgrown vines.
Tentatively, Adelein removed the silk cover to reveal all that her paranoia had warned. The symbol of a noble house, the outstretched wings of corvus. Embedded into the leather was a combination of words that caused the blood to drain from her face. She carefully placed the journal upon the ground before her in disbelief, uttering them quietly to herself.
A discordant vibration intercepted Adeleinâs concentration. The beasts left her side as the unearthly mutation of her arms pushed her forward in an awkward, cephalopodous movement. Her mind fought with the conjured appendages that weighed her shoulders forward, seeking the shadows to hide once more. Â She knew it was in vain, but somehow the attack ceased long enough to allow a momentary retreat.Â
A voice... a familiar, mellifluous sound of despair etched at the mageâs paranoia. A fitting illusion to for Vaermina to claim victory over her rivalâs conduit. Adelein realized her death may not be swift and painless, but the will of Hermaeus Mora fought for her survival. She wasnât able to truly transform, however. Her will was lacking the motivation to continue this false sense of awareness.  In a grim sense, Adelein was prevailing from such a loss.
She caught a glimpse of the figure above the swirling nightmarish sky, a familiarity of Jade eyes meeting with the black scleras of Adeleinâs corrupted vision. Only a split second of recognition before the grotesquely metamorphosed breton retreated further into darkness.Â
