#uurenasha

The blinds of the skylights above the House's showroom are adjusted, letting warm daylight spill onto the runway.

Down in the main seating area, dozens of Altmer guests begin to murmur with curiosity and wonder.

Uurenasha stands from her seat, and in a flash teleports onto the stage. Her gown changes from her travel attire to an exquisite gown of flowing silks, layered and embroidered to look like peacock feathers. The daylight dances on the threads, glittering.

"Honoured guests! It is my great pleasure to offer felicitous greetings once again..." She bows her head, magicka rippling around her before it bursts out into a dazzling illusory starburst, "...to the House of Uurenasha!"

All of the guests stand and clap with vigour, a few cheers rolling out from the back seats; this is improper, but many cannot contain themselves. Uurenasha does not mind.

"Now of course, the main event is fast approaching. Before we begin though, it is only proper that we provide some entertainment as my models finish up their fittings. Shall we?" She warps back up to the gallery, taking her seat as a small orchestra of Altmer musicians is revealed from behind the curtains. They begin to play gentle melodies that echo through the hall's perfect acoustics.

"There's still time for my other guests to arrive..." She mutters to herself.

Uurenasha leaned against one of the ship masts, smoking her pipe. She looked up to the sky and recalled her daughter, Sunnalata.

"Mother, could you tell me a story?" She was sixteen at the time, well past storytelling age. Still, Uurenasha obliged.

"Very well, how about the story of the moons?"

Long, long ago, Aedra created the plane of Mundus. In that era, Secund-a and Masser devoted themselves most fervently to the great project that was Nirn.

When the plane was nearing completion, the couple were greatly weakened. Secunda loved Nirn dearly, and wished with all of herself to be able to watch over it forever.

Masser loved Secunda more than he loved himself, his divinity, or Nirn. So he shook off what remained of his divinity, and vested it in her so she might adorn the skies forevermore.

When he descended, he took the form of one of the cat-folk Secunda doted on. With each changing phase of the moons, he would change his form in kind; it was this that laid the foundation for the furstocks.

With his final mortal breath, Masser declared to his beloved:

"Radiant Secunda, even as this life ends, my will is that I shall always bask in your luminance. By my own fervour, I shall return again and again to live out eternity in your service."

And through the strength of his love, it was so. Countless Manes since the Dawn have been born and died under the loving glow of the moons. Secunda cherished each and every one of them, and bathed the lands of Elsweyr in her benediction under their rule.

"But, mother," Sunnalata's voice began to trail off awkwardly. "If Secunda loved Nirn as much as you say..."

"What is it, my child?" Uurenasha cupped her daughter's cheek in her hand, gently.

"...Why did you make the moons disappear?"

"Well..." Uurenasha trailed off herself. "...Because stories are just that: stories."

Uurenasha and Niramo (presumably with Sorayne in tow) ambled toward the House. Altmer doormen took one look at her and immediately bowed their heads as the opened the entrance.

"Madam. You are well-timed as ever." The doormen said in unnerving sync. Paying attention to them, one would notice they are twins.

The foyer of the House was the grandest thing most people might ever see; chandeliers, marble floors and ornate Ayleidesque motifs along the walls. Was this what those ruins looked like in their heyday?

Uurenasha immediately walked through one of the archways, into the great hall. There was an elevated runway with countless seats for spectators that were already making their way in. Some of them appeared to have been sitting there for hours, as if simply being in there was an exclusive experience.

She then turned to a private stairway and made her way up to a second floor viewing gallery. Niramo follows through without issue, but...

The guard looks to Sorayne.

"Invitation, please."

The transportation matrix is complete; Uurenasha stands in the middle of it, locator stone in hand.

She says nothing, instead turning her eye to her assistant.

Knowingly, this sheepish Altmer woman infuses her magicka into the circle of gem dust surrounding her madam. It begins to glow, letting out tendrils of brilliant blue energy that whip and dissipate around their mistress.

Uurenasha cups the crystal in her hands and shatters it, letting its body be absorbed by the energy swirling around her.

"Autan vey Resdayn, malaute Morrowind. Delian vey se, Sorayne."

The words echo in both the matrix chamber, and in Sorayne's immediate vicinity. Blue energy envelops Uurenasha, and within seconds erupts from the ground near Sorayne.

Once the energy dissipates, Uurenasha is revealed once more.

"What brings one to this crematorium of a province, I will never understand." She says rather casually for someone who's just teleported from one end of Tamriel to the other.

Before Sorayne stood a tall elf, eyes piercing blue and hair a deep and vibrant red. Some of it appeared to be braided into a lattice, acting as a shawl decorating her shoulders. Her skin was strangely bronzed for an Altmer...

A woman screams amid the throes of labour in Markarth.

There is a downpour outside; the Karth river bursts its banks, smashing its currents against the karsts. The rumbling can be heard across the Reach.

"Just push once more!" a midwife says.

The mother's hand grabs the midwife by the neck of her robe. "I'VE BEEN PUSHING FOR AN HOUR, YOU-" A contraction melts her words to screams.

They dissolve within seconds. Silence, but for the hurried murmurs of a midwife gently pressing a blade against a sac. Pop, and whoosh...

...And then the healthy wail of an infant.

"From bones of earth, beneath a trilune sky, a babe is born ensouled on high."

The moonwells of Oiosila hum in reverence; the clouds part.

There is a moon and a moon and a moon. There is a resonance that whispers of a song yet to be formed.

The Karth calms, and the tides lower in reverence. Bubbles of light emerge from the waves; moonflies in scores.

She has returned.

[Logic]

This is an inevitability.

As the vision dissipates, you feel a gentle warmth you have not felt in millennia...

Uurenasha gasps aloud, as though she had not been breathing for a whole minute. She lurches forward, wheezing as she grips to the arms of her chair.

"She-" she coughs again, grasping at her throat to try and get the words out. "She's comin- g-..."

Uurenasha stands up, and instinctively recalls her body to her office. In her rush, she left behind a trail of magicka that indicates her location.

The orchestra fell silent, shuffling away from the centre stage as the curtains fell. Murmurs from the guests gave way to a heavy quiet that dripped with anticipation...

...Uurenasha snapped her fingers from the gallery, and the curtains burst open.

Breaking from the conventional order, several Khajiit models strutted out from behind the curtains. Naught but gasps filled the air as a glorious menagerie of draped silks billowed along the runway.

Sarees, dhoti, and many more draped Elsweyr silhouettes dominated a runway that had for centuries been reserved for the stitched structure of the Altmeri tradition. The diverse physiques of Khajiit - Pahmar-raht all the way down to Alfiq - walked unapologetically as many guests picked at their own clothes with dissatisfied grimaces.

Uurenasha simply looked on from the gallery in silence with a knowing grin.

She turned to Zael, pipe held up as if part of a toast, "How's this for a shakeup?"

Alinor was in view now, and Uurenasha stood at the helm of the ship with her pipe in hand. A scowl had baked itself into her face, maintained since she spotted the moonfly.

It took incredible effort, but she softened it as soon as she could make out the faces of mer on the docks. Must keep up appearances, after all.

Alinor itself was bustling with life in the early morning sun. Everyone in their finest, most of them in various HoU pieces from varying collections. The poorest even seemed to have some, from collections she made centuries ago.

She didn't mind this. A small part of her was warmed remembering all of those clients, and how they saw the pieces they saved for years for as the most beautiful thing they ever owned even centuries onward.

The boat moored at the docks, and Uurenasha stepped off. Countless mer turned their gazes to her, but continued with their business. This was the proper way...

...All but one: a teenage boy, who ran up to her.

"Madam Uurenasha! It's you! I'm Niramo and- and- I've always wanted to meet you, madam!" The boy's eyes glimmered with radiant joy and morning sunlight in equal measure.

Other mer looked at him with apprehension, some with outright disgust. Uurenasha flashed a glance down at him first, and then looked to the crowds with that scowl she had been suppressing. One by one, they turned away.

"I- I'm sorry, Madam Uurenasha. I forgot my place-" Niramo shuffled a bit as the Madam's free hand fell onto his hair...

...Scruffy, oily, she thought. She didn't deign to mention it though, and gently stroked his scalp.

The boy stammered, "I've- always wanted to be like you, Madam... designing clothes, making waves through Alinor's fashion world. It gets- it gets so dull between collections."

"Are you saying that my collections don't keep things interesting enough for their entire seasons?" Uurenasha met Niramo's gaze.

"No! No that's-"

Back and forth, back and forth, Uurenasha's hand still went through Niramo's hair. Then, an amused huff from her nose blew his fringe out of place.

"Maybe you can fix that, Niramo." She smiled at him, moving her hand to his shoulder. Gods, I didn't know they still made linen this coarse...

"I... could? No- I'm nowhere near your level."

"It's a good thing you have centuries to work at it, then." Her cheeks rose in a grin. "How would you like to get started?" Uurenasha cocked her head toward the House in a gesture.

"Are you saying I can..."

"Yes. The summer collection will need a fresh perspective."

In the centre of the Niben Bay, Uurenasha opens her eyes once again. She is stood atop the water at the apex of night. The moons are shining bright; brighter than they do in the Fourth Era. All around her, she can see the resplendent channels of starlight that used to flow around old Cyrod. These were the glory days, before any schism or Alessian revolt.

Why am I back here? She questions, looking into the reflections of Masser and Secunda.

"Because it is not too late." A voice echoes throughout the calm of the night, careful not to startle the slumbering or agitate the nocturnal.

Is that-... No. Banish the thought, Uurenasha. This is not a memory you want to unpack.

Voices echo from the shores of the bay. Ayleidoon, her mother tongue, spoken fluently. It had been so long.

"The peace of this dream offers little respite from the fate you have drawn." A different voice. Familiar, gentle, yet there's a sternness in it she do not recognise; like whoever spoke to her with it had never been cross with her.

"You know this, chanichay. Why do you stay this doomed path?" The voice swirls around Uurenasha's head, and faint outlines begin to take shape from flickers of moonlight.

Outlines we don't want to remember, we think.

Because you didn't.

The moons' reflections disappear from the Niben's waters, and their true forms from the skies. Two years was not enough. Eternity may yet bring me some comfort.

"You chose it again." The voice says, muffled and unsurprised. "Well, what you do in a dream matters little. You already pulled the lever; pressed the button; catalysed the tower fragment."

The voice flickers for a moment before continuing.

"It's almost time for the regifting." That younger voice again. Strange... "It's a shame, really. Our only birthright is life, and this is what you waste it dreaming about: building something beautiful over millennia just to throw it away for a chair built for someone smaller."