Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Life" in the Imperial Prison wasn't so bad. At least, that's what Sylvana wanted to convince herself, to keep at least a few shreds of her sanity together. The irons around her wrists clanged against the chain that bound them together, like the gold rings and bracelets Sylvana had adorned herself with not so long ago. So much of her past life had been velvet and silk, jewels, and dancing at long feasts where wine flowed like water. Now there was only rags, shackles, and cold. And an annoying fellow prisoner in the cell across from hers who spent the long, boring days as a prisoner taunting her.
"What's wrong, Breton? Isn't your magic strong enough to free you? Of course not. After all, you're just a stuck-up, pasty whore who knows a few parlor tricks."
She gritted her teeth and clenched her frozen hands into fists. After using her magic for a while to keep herself warm, she'd long since run out of energy, and the prison rations weren't enough to recover from it. She'd never considered using magic to escape. Why should she? She was only here because of an unfortunate misunderstanding. Once that was cleared up, she'd be allowed back to her life, and she'd tear this chapter of her story from the book, burn it, and never speak of it again. Any moment now...
But moments had turned into hours, and hours into days. Now she'd been sitting here for three weeks, with no news, and with each day she wished more and more to at least have a chance to wring the neck of that nuisance in the cell across the hall.
"What's going on? Are you still waiting for Mommy and Daddy to come and save you? Oh please. They're already dead, and you're next." Somewhere down the hall, a door creaked open, sending the bastard into a frenzy. "Do you hear that? They're coming to get you!"
She got up from her bunk. Yes, someone was surely coming to get her. That had to be it. The truth had finally come to light, and now she could leave this miserable hole behind her. May that loudmouth rot there. But the person who soon stood in front of her cell, accompanied by two guards, was neither her mother nor her father.
His name was Gaspard, and he was a close friend of her family; so close that Sylvana had always called him "Uncle" as a child. And he pursed his lips in pity when he saw her like this, dressed in nothing but rags. Then he turned to the guards. "Leave us alone."
"But Lord Gaspard, we can't leave you alone with a dangerous prisoner-"
"Oh, please," Gaspard replied with a patronizing smile. "In this state, she's hardly a threat. I just wish to speak with her privately."
The guards hesitated for a moment, but apparently decided it couldn't hurt and left.
"Uncle Gaspard, I swear there was no plot," Sylvana said quickly. "My family would never oppose the Emperor. Never!"
He placed his hand on the lock of her cell door, which slowly swung open with a soft light from his fingertips and a quiet click. Gaspard entered the cell, and Sylvana threw her arms around him in relief at finally seeing a friendly face again. But then he closed the door again, and with another flash, the lock sprang back into place, before he wrapped his arms around her in a warm embrace.
"The only crime your parents committed was thinking they were better than me," he said, and the kindness and warmth seemed to fall away from him like ill-fitting armor, making Sylvana stiffen in his arms. "All I wanted, after all the years I spent supporting them, was a bride. A blood connection to the family, so I could benefit from my own labors." For a moment, he seemed to at least try to put on his patronizing mask again, despite Sylvana desperately trying to free herself from his grip. "It was incredibly foolish of your father to refuse my offer of marriage for you. But you didn't inherit his stupidity, did you? No, of course not. You were always a smart girl, my little Sylvie."
Her stomach twisted in a sudden realization that made her entire body tense up. "It was you. You framed my family for this plot against the Emperor."
"Ah, yes. What won't a man do to find a worthy bride? Unfortunately, it's already too late for your parents. But you, my dear..." His arms tightetened around her to the point it was painful. "There's still hope for you. If you don't want to follow your family to the gallows, I only need a single word from you."
As if in a trance, her hand closed around a heavy, clay carafe in which the guards had brought her lukewarm, brackish water that morning. Gaspard just wanted a word? He would get it.
“Bastard,” Sylvana hissed through clenched teeth, and struck.

She wasn't quite sure how much time she'd lost in the red fog of her rage. But when she came to, Gaspard lay at her feet, so mangled that one could hardly recognize his face. The carafe in her hand was stained but otherwise undamaged. It was far too sturdy, really. Too easily transformed into a weapon. The handle slipped out of her trembling fingers, and the vessel shattered on the rough stone floor, sending shards and drops of blood flying in all directions.
She slumped onto the cot, her blank eyes staring into nothingness. Dead. Gaspard was dead. She placed her hands in her lap, watching as blood spatter was slowly absorbed by the rough fabric while she tried to get the shaking under control. Dead. She had just killed a man, erased his present and his future, until all that was left was a name on a headstone. Not just any man; the man who used to carry her on his shoulders when she was a girl, who used to gift her bits of jewelry every time he visited her parents estate. The man who had caused her family’s death and then tried to force her to marry him. Dead, dead, dead. Something rose in her chest, and for a disturbing moment, Sylvana wasn’t sure if it was a scream or a laugh or possibly bile. This whole situation couldn’t be real. Her eyelids grew heavy, so heavy... she could barely sit upright. Cold, it was so cold, except for the small drops of warm red on her. The world around her went dark, and she slumped to the side.

A cold breeze awoke her, even colder than the already icy air of the cell. For a moment, Sylvana believed Gaspard's unexpected visit had been merely a nightmare, born of a desperate desire to find an explanation for her situation. But when she opened her eyes, Gaspard was still lying exactly where she had struck him down. And beside him stood a man in a black robe, the hood of which gave only a glimpse of a finely chiseled face with a stubble and kind, brown eyes.
“You sleep rather soundly for a murderer.”
She sat up, trying to shake off the last emotional and physical numbness of her shock. "Who... who are you?"
The man smiled. "I'm Lucien Lachance, and I have an offer to make you."
She gritted her teeth. This time she didn't even have the carafe to defend herself with, so she just bared her teeth, equally threat and challenge."If it's the same kind of offer he made me..." She nodded toward Gaspard's corpse without allowing her eyes to leave the man who was still alive enough to be an actual threat to her. "...you should leave right away and save both of us some time."
The man... Lucien? Raised his hands in a placating gesture. "Nothing of the sort, I promise. It just seems to me that you're in a rather hopeless situation, and I have a solution for you, now that you have proven yourself to have a certain potential."
"It's not hopeless. As soon as my parents prove our innocence, I'll get out of here." The hint of compassion in his features made her pause. She didn't want to believe it, but... "...He wasn't lying, was he? When he said my parents had already been executed."
Lucien inclined his head. "Indeed. And even if his schemes were to come out now, you could still be hanged for murder."
She took a sharp breath. Murder. She had committed murder. All insistence on her innocence would be in vain, because the evidence of her bloody deed lay right at her feet.
“What is your suggestion?” she asked, trying hard to keep her voice calm.
Lucien smiled, obviously pleased. “I am a Speaker of the Dark Brotherhood. Have you heard of it? Not that it matters, as I will gladly explain. We are a guild, and a family, not through blood but through conviction, dedicating our lives to the service of the Dread Father Sithis, and the Night Mother. In their name, we bring death to the unworthy. In search for new recruits, I always keep an eye out for people who, like you, are capable of doing so. Sithis has taken notice of your actions, and he is pleased indeed. So through me, he extends an invitation to join our family.”
“I… I’m not a murderer”, Sylvana objected weakly.
“I believe your ‘uncle’ would disagree”, Lucien responded blithely. “Well? At this point, you have two choices: The gallows, or the loving embrace of the Dread Father and the Night Mother.” He extended his hand to her. “What do you say?”
Sylvana stared at his hand, her mind reeling and heart racing. The gallows, or the Void? In the end, the decision had long been made already. She would not grant that bastard Gaspard the satisfaction of her death. And if living meant joining the Dark Brotherhood…
“I accept”, she said, her shaky voice barely above a whisper, and she noticed how beneath the black hood, Lucien’s face lit up with delight.

Chapter Text

Sylvana really shouldn‘t have been so surprised that Lucien knew a secret tunnel out of the prison. This place was probably the best place to find new recruits for the Dark Brotherhood, so Lucien would have used this quick and inconspicuous way to get in and out frequently.
The tunnel itself wasn‘t exactly what she would call “cozy”; it did, after all, lead straight through the sewers under the Imperial City. So it was dark, and stuffy, and smelled awful. But it was a way out. That's what mattered.
Look at me, she thought, quickly rounding a corner so she wouldn’t lose sight of Lucien. From dancing in marble halls to… this.
But that thought didn't hold the old edge of despair. Not when freedom was close enough to touch. Still, the thick, humid air, interlaced with the stench of human waste, made her skin itch, and she would have given all she had left to give for a hot bath and a fresh set of clothes.
She wanted to sigh, but that would have meant taking a deep breath, which she really didn‘t want to do right now.
"We're almost there. The exit is just up ahead”, Lucien told her, as if he had been sensing her discomfort. And sure enough, when Sylvana peeked past him, she could see pale daylight shimmering through an iron gate, and a fresh breeze that briefly wafted away the stench of the sewers.

Sunlight. Sweet, blessed sunlight, and the scent of water and flowers. Sylvana had the sudden urge to lay in the grass and just let the sun warm her for a bit. But no. Not in front of Lucien. So she turned to him, so overjoyed to see nature again that she couldn‘t keep the smile off her face. “So, what now?”
“Now, it's time for you to prove yourself.”
The smile faded. “Didn‘t I already do that?”
He crossed his arms in front of his chest, with the facial expression of a loving father teaching a curious child, even though he couldn’t be that much older than her. “You killed a man who personally wronged you in the heat of the moment. Now you have to prove that you are capable of deliberately killing a stranger who never harmed you in any way.”
Another thing Sylvana shouldn’t have been so surprised by. Of course, what Lucien was saying was perfectly logical.
“Okay”, she said, not sure if it actually was okay. “Who…?”
“His name is Rufio. He has been staying at the Ill Omen Inn for a while, and usually sleeps the day away, in a private room down in the basement. He's old and feeble and should make an easy enough first target.” Lucien produced a beautiful black dagger with gold worked into the hilt and blade from the folds of his robe. “Take this. It is a virgin blade, freshly forged and thirsting for blood. See it as a gift from your new family.”
The second Sylvana’s hand closed around the dagger, a shiver went down her spine, in an odd but not entirely unpleasant way, a mix of anxiety and anticipation. What was one more corpse in this rotten world?
“It shall be done”, she whispered, her voice shaky and hoarse.
Lucien nodded, pleased with her response. “Indeed it shall. I must now bid you goodbye. Once Rufio is dead, I will seek you out the next time you sleep. Until then… sister.”
Within a heartbeat, he was gone, leaving the unmistakable aura of magic behind. An invisibility spell; clever. Him showing up and then just disappearing certainly added to the air of mystery around him and the Brotherhood.
Now alone with her thoughts, Sylvana stared at the dagger in her hand, its polished golden carvings glistening in the early morning sun. Looked like she was about to murder some random old man. But first: A bath.

The icy waters of Lake Rumare were a far cry from the warm, lavender-scented bathwater she was used to. But at least the quick dip in the lake helped her get somewhat clean. As for her clothes, well, her target surely would have something she could “borrow”.

The trip to the Ill Omens Inn took all day, especially on foot. For at least half of the way there, Sylvana silently cursed the many sharp pebbles littering the paths across Cyrodiil; the flimsy straw sandals she wore barely cushioned her feet against them.. She did run into some imperial guards on the way, but they mostly ignored her, believing her to be a random beggar instead of an escaped convict. Clearly, the news of her escape hadn’t made the rounds yet. And so, when the sun was already halfway behind the horizon, bathing the world in flaming twilight, Sylvana finally arrived at the inn. It was dark, and run-down, and obviously only frequented by shady types. Most of said shady types were luckily too absorbed in their drinks, or gambling, or whispered conversations to notice Sylvana slipping through the hatch that led to the basement.

She found Rufio in his room, fast asleep, just as Lucien had promised. Sylvana quietly closed the door, drew the dagger… and suddenly stopped, realizing that she had no idea what to actually do. Plunge the blade into his heart? No. He was lying on the side. Slitting his throat? Messy, but doable, and it would stop him from screaming for help. But just as she made up her mind, the old man opened his eyes, and paled when he saw her standing there, weapon in hand. He scrambled off the bed and ended up in a heap on the floor. “No no no! I haven't done anything!”
Sylvana tilted her head. Had this man been expecting someone to come after him? “Funny. The truly innocent wouldn’t expect an assassin.”
“I didn‘t mean to kill her”, he whimpered pathetically. “I just needed her to be quiet. She just needed to be silent.”
Her eyes widened, realization sending bile up her throat. For a moment, she saw Gaspard in front of herself again. So she stepped up to him, this rotten old man cowering on the floor and looking at her like she was death incarnate.
“Intentions don‘t matter to the dead”, she said. Then she grabbed what little was left of his hair to pull his head back, drove the blade into his throat and cut a sharp line across his neck.
While he was still clinging onto life, she calmly opened the chest containing his meagre belongings. The clothes she found inside were rough and too big for her, but clean. That would have to suffice for now. Morbid as it felt to strip in front of a dying man, she quickly shed her prison rags and slipped into Rufio's clothes. At least they were warmer and would provide some protection against the early autumn winds. When Sylvana was dressed again, she checked on Rufio again. His eyes were glazed over, and his desperate gasping had faded into eerie silence. She wiped her dagger down on his bedsheets, and slipped away, out of the room and the inn, feeling almost disturbingly calm. Or was it just numbness? She honestly didn't know anymore. But perhaps numbness was a good thing. If she just followed orders and didn't think about what she was doing and why, she might actually be able to be a decent assassin. Now, she just needed a safe place to sleep.

Chapter Text

Finding somewhere to sleep turned out to be a lot harder than Sylvana had imagined. Word of her escape from the Imperial Prison would spread soon, so she couldn‘t just waltz into an inn and demand a room without getting dragged back into a cell, or worse. Caves often offered protection to fugitives, but that also meant that most of them were already occupied, by people who could easily overpower and rob her, if she was lucky and they didn’t rape and kill her.
Every step sent jolts of pain from her feet to her knees, her soles raw from too many blisters to count.

After what seemed like an eternity, she happened upon an abandoned camp. Someone had just left behind a tent, with a bedroll inside, but the sagging fabric of the tent and the layer of dust on the bedroll told her that it happened a while ago. She briefly considered lighting a fire, but that would have drawn too much attention. That and every single muscle in her body was screaming with exhaustion, so she just crawled under the threadbare sheets and passed out almost immediately.

This time, she did not wake up from a gust of cold, but from a sudden warmth that brought some life back into her aching limbs. She opened her eyes and saw the small area around the camp bathed in the gentle orange glow of a campfire. By the fire sat a figure dressed in a black cloak; a cloak she immediately recognized. She sat up. “Lucien.”
He turned to her, his brown eyes reflecting the dancing flames. “Ah, you are awake. And you fulfilled your contract! Excellent. I knew you had it in you.”
“It was a lot easier once I found out what he had done”, Sylvana muttered, pulling the blanket closer around herself. She of course knew that not every target would turn out to be a rapist, and had no idea how she would react to having to kill someone genuinely innocent, but she decided that she would cross that bridge when she got to it.
The corners of his mouth twitched a little, but not enough to have any effect on his gentle smile. “Indeed; Rufio deserved his death, and with his last breath, you have entered into a magical contract. The method of his death was your signature, and his blood the ink. You are now bound to the Dark Brotherhood.” He scooted closer to her, and wiped a stray hair from her face, allowing his warm fingers to linger against her skin for a moment. She leaned into the touch, almost like it was a reflex. She hadn’t realized how much she had come to crave such casual affection during her imprisonment. “Your new family awaits you in Cheydinhal, and they are all so excited to meet you. Go to the abandoned house close to the east gate. Down in its basement, you will find a door. When it asks you a question, answer with ‘Sanguine, my brother’. Then you’ll be let in. I must go now.” He stood up, adjusted his hood and gave her one last almost paternal smile. “Go with Sithis’ blessing, sister, and be welcome.” And gone he was, invisible again, and the soft sounds of his careful footsteps soon disappeared into the night, leaving Sylvana to her thoughts again.

Sylvana ended up sleeping until sunrise, when the fire Lucien had started for her had burned down. Then she dusted herself off and continued on her way, always just close enough to see the road to guide her, but not close enough to draw the attention of anyone. The trip to Cheydinhal was another full day’s journey, and the moon was already high up in the sky when she arrived at the gate. The guards didn’t mind her too much; they believed her to be an ordinary peasant. And once she was inside, she immediately sought out the abandoned house Lucien had mentioned.
It was fairly easy to find among the neat, almost fairytale-like houses of Cheydinhal, with its shabby exterior and boarded up door and windows. It stuck out like a sore thumb. With a deep breath, she opened the door, wincing at the groan of old wood and rusted hinges.

The interior was, if anything, even more run-down. No furniture save for a few broken crates, cobwebs absolutely everywhere, and a wall with a big hole that led down into the bowels of the earth. That was where she needed to go, even though the part of her that was still a pampered noble recoiled at the idea.
It was so dark that she had to keep her hand on the wall to guide herself, and she didn’t even want to know how many spiders she accidentally touched while doing so. But just up ahead, the last bit of the tunnel was lit up by an eerie red glow, which Sylvana understood as a signal that she was on the right track.
And there it was. A big stone door bathed in red light, with a big skull and the figure of a woman surrounded by five babies reaching out for her carved into it. A cold, breathy voice echoed off the bare walls asking:”What is the color of the night?”
Her arms erupted in goosebumps, but there was no going back now, so Sylvana swallowed the lump in her throat and responded:”Sanguine, my brother.”
The door swung open, and the voice responded:”Welcome home.”
Sylvana braced herself for a moment, to try and get her thundering heartbeat under control, as if the other members of the Brotherhood would be able to hear it and judge her. Then she stepped through.

The sanctuary of the Dark Brotherhood had something dungeon-like about it, built out of roughly hewn stone blocks, all bathed in dancing torchlight that kept it cloaked in twilight. An Argonian woman had been waiting near the door and approached Sylvana as soon as it had closed behind her. She was tall, dressed in black leather armor, and her every movement was uncannily serpentine. But there was nothing but excitement in her eyes.
“Greetings, greetings! Lucien told us to expect a new sister today, and here you are! Allow me to be the first to welcome you here. I am Ocheeva, mistress of this sanctuary. You must be exhausted. We prepared a bed in the community quarters for you. Take a moment to settle in and meet the rest of our siblings. When you feel ready to take your first real contract, speak to Vicente Valtieri. He has a private room at the back of the sanctuary; you’ll see why when you meet him. Oh and take this.” She produced a neatly folded set of leather armor, of the same color and cut as her own. “May it serve you well as you serve the Night Mother and Dread Father.”
Sylvana accepted the gift, her head spinning from just how… friendly Ocheeva was. Not at all like one would expect an assassin to behave.
“Thank… thank you…”
“Oh, no need to thank me, dearest sister. I have some important things to attend to, but if you need help or don’t understand something, don’t hesitate to ask, either me or… anyone here, really.” With that, Ocheeva left, leaving Sylvana standing at the entrance to the sanctuary like a lost child, clutching the armor to her chest.
A blonde Breton girl came up to her, apparently sensing how overwhelmed she was. She looked maybe a year or two younger than Sylvana, but had a look in her eyes that told Sylvana that she had seen far too much in her short life. The girl was fidgeting with her sleeve, looking at Sylvana with a mix of gentleness and curiosity. “You are our new sister, right? Welcome. I am Antoinetta-Marie. It’s always nice to see a new face here.” After a brief moment of silence, during which Sylvana struggled to find some kind of response through the fog on her mind, Antoinetta-Marie just continued, her voice low and soft as if she was talking to a frightened child:”It’s always a bit much at first. I can show you your bed, if you like. And where you can change into your armor.” She took Sylvana’s hand. “It’s okay. You’ve probably been through a lot lately; we all have. You don‘t have to talk about it if you don't want to. Come now. When was the last time you ate? There should still be some stew left over from supper, if you're hungry.” The mention of food made Sylvana’s stomach growl audibly.

The community quarters were a large hall separated into a dining area to the left and sleeping space to the right. Antoinetta-Marie led Sylvana to the dining table and urged her to sit down, then walked over to a cabinet to fetch a bowl and spoon.
“It's been a while since someone new joined us”, she explained while ladling stew into the bowl. “I hope you'll like it here.” She placed it in front of Sylvana. “Bon appetit!”
Sylvana took a deep breath, the scent of beef and spices making her mouth water. She muttered a thank you and began eating. In the stress and turmoil of her prison break and first killings, she hadn’t even noticed that she hadn’t eaten in a few days, and was already feeling weak from hunger. The stew wasn't anything fancy, just broth and beef and a few vegetables, but it was well seasoned and filling. Sylvana had emptied the bowl way too soon, and still found herself scraping even the last drops of broth out of it. With a satisfied sigh, she leaned back, closing her eyes to hold onto the ghost of its flavor as if it would be her last meal.
Fabric shifted as Antoinetta-Marie fidgeted with her sleeves again. “Sister?”
Sylvana flinched out of her thoughts. "Yes?"
“May I hug you?”
She opened her mouth to respond, but could only bring herself to ask “why?”.
Antoinetta-Marie looked her over briefly, and then just bluntly said:“You look like you need it.”
Something in Sylvana cracked. Yes, Lucien had been kind and warm in his own way, but it had been clear that he was just trying to charm her into joining the Dark Brotherhood. Not that she could blame him; a man with his face could charm anyone to do anything, and he knew that. But the last time someone had genuinely offered to hug Sylvana just because she needed it, she had been a child with a scraped knee. Her last hug had been from that traitor Gaspard, and that had been a trap more than a comforting gesture.
Her eyes began burning, threatening to overflow, and through a tightened throat, she whispered:”I think I'd like that.”
Antoinetta-Marie was small and warm, and the way she kept her touch gentle, as if Sylvana would fall apart if she wasn’t careful, made Sylvana’s whole body tense with the effort of keeping herself composed.
“Better?”, Antoinetta-Marie asked.
Sylvana lingered just for a little moment more, then nodded, as if to assure herself before letting go. “Better. I think I should go get my first contract now.”
Antoinetta-Marie blinked at her, surprised. “Are you sure that you don't want to rest some more? Nobody here would judge you for taking some time to settle in.”
No, Sylvana wasn’t sure. Of anything, really. “I don't want anyone to think I'm immediately shirking my responsibilities.”
“Nonsense. I slept for almost three entire days right after arriving here and ate my own weight's worth of food, and nobody complained; it's not unusual for a new sibling to arrive in really rough shape. Sleep, sister. Your contract won't go anywhere.”
Sleep did sound good, and the thought of finally having a proper bed again sounded even better. “I think you're right.”

Chapter Text

By the time Sylvana rose from her slumber, it had to already be night again. She kept her eyes closed for a moment, enjoying the warm cocoon of a blanket she was wrapped up in, and the feeling of being blessedly safe.
At least until something tickled her nose, and she opened her eyes, only to find a rat the size of a terrier next to her bed, curiously sniffing her face.
She tumbled out of bed with a horrified yelp and landed directly at the feet of someone else: Another Argonian, very similar to Ocheeva in looks and mannerisms, but undoubtedly male. He chuckled and bent down to help her to her feet again.
“Good evening! Ocheeva sent me to wake you up, but Schemer got to you first, from the looks of it. I am Teinaava.”
Sylvana let Teinaava help her up. “Right. Uh. Good evening. Nobody mentioned a… a rat living here, so I was just surprised.”
“Schemer is our sanctuary’s pet. Most sanctuaries of the Dark Brotherhood have one.” He patted his thigh and Schemer immediately climbed up his leg and into his arms. “Anyway, Vicente has been asking if you’re feeling well enough to visit him and talk about your contract. Has Ocheeva told you where to find him?”
“She did”, Sylvana confirmed. “I guess I’ll go see him, then.”

The sanctuary was silent and deserted at this time of night; most siblings had just left for their own missions. However, in the hallway leading to Vicente Valtieri’s private room, she ran into a Khajiit in a dark cloak, similar to Lucien’s. Having been too overwhelmed to properly introduce herself to the others, she decided to take the initiative this time. “Hello, brother! I am-”
His amber eyes jerked over to her and narrowed. “Oh, I know who you are.” It felt odd to meet a Khajiit who didn't speak of himself in the third person, and he also lacked the typical Khajiiti accent. He crossed his arms in front of his chest when Sylvana took too long to respond to him. “Let's make one thing clear: I will sell my wares to you, because Ocheeva makes me do so. But beyond that, I have no interest in being your friend. Understood?” And before Sylvana could even respond, he stomped off toward the main hall, tail swishing aggressively.
Sylvana looked his way for a moment, muttered:”Rude.” and continued down the corridor.

The room at the back of the sanctuary was so silent, even the crackling of the torches seemed muffled. It also lacked a bed; instead, there was a big stone slab, like the ones where bodies were put on display before funerals. Across the room from it was a small table, a desk with a chair, and a bookshelf. At the desk sat a man; a Breton, just like Sylvana. He had long, brown hair, tied into a simple ponytail, and eerily pale skin, which made her think that he never left the sanctuary to see the sun.
He looked up from the book he had been reading. “Ah, there you are.”
“Sorry to have kept you waiting. I'm Sylvana.” He turned to her, and something about his eyes caught Sylvana's attention. They were bloodshot, with pale golden irises; not exactly a normal eyecolor for a human. His movement was also almost disturbingly fluid, like a predator finding the right stance to strike. His face may have been handsome… no, it definitely was, but again, there was something about it that made the hairs on the back of Sylvana’s neck stand. She had no reason to fear him; his eyes, despite their unusual color, were just as friendly as everyone else's. But some ancient, primal instinct deep within her made her want to run, as fast and far as her feet could carry her.
She found out why as soon as he spoke again: His mouth opened, and the flickering torchlight got caught on the edge of an elongated, razor-sharp canine tooth.
Vicente, noticing the way her eyes widened, quickly explained:”Don't let my appearance disturb you. The needs and safety of the Brotherhood always rank above my needs as a vampire; I assure you that I would never lay hand or fang on you or anyone else here.”
That was comforting, at least. Vicente seemed completely at ease with what he was, and gave her the whole spiel about never biting another member of the Brotherhood with the practiced air of a man who had given that very speech many, many times in the past.
“Right. Understood. So, Teinaava told me that you have a contract for me?”
Vicente tilted his head in acknowledgement, pulled a sheet of parchment from a stack on his desk, and handed it to her, his ice-cold fingers briefly brushing hers in the process, sending a shudder down her spine. She couldn’t tell whether from fear, or something else. “Indeed I do. You are to go to the Imperial City harbor, where you will find a pirate ship called the Marie-Elena. Kill its captain, Gaston Tussaud, in whatever way you prefer. Good luck.”
The Imperial City… she'd have to find some kind of disguise to go there. Certainly one of her sisters had some make up she could borrow, and maybe a wig?
Sylvana was already half-way out of the room, planning her way to her target, when Vicente stopped her.
“One more thing: Don't mind Mraaj-Dar and his attitude. I know he can be…” Vicente paused, trying to find a polite way to describe the Khajiit's behaviour. “...abrasive. Just give him time to get used to you.”

Finding a disguise turned out to be easier than she had expected. The first person she came across was Ocheeva, who offered her a set of clothes: Sturdy shoes, gloves and a simple beige dress, the kind any commoner might wear, though this one had pockets for knives and vials of poison sewn into it.
Then came Antoinetta-Marie, who was downright enthusiastic when offering to do her make up. A few lines of crushed coal, carefully applied and blended out over Sylvana’s face, gave the illusion of lines and wrinkles that weren't actually there.
Finally, Telaendril, a Bosmer Sylvana hadn’t met before, gave her an herbal concoction to dye her blonde hair darker, assuring her that it would wash out, and also allowed Sylvana to borrow her horse until she saved up enough to buy her own.
When Sylvana looked into the mirror her sisters presented her with, she was met with the image of a middle-aged, tired-looking woman with shaggy brown hair. Not like herself at all. Perfect.
“Keep the gloves on. Your hands are so smooth, they'd give you away”, Ocheeva advised her.
“And be very careful around the guards”, Antoinetta-Marie added with an unusual hint of anxiety in her voice. “They may not recognize you, but that doesn't mean they'll be friendly.”
“Find a way to sneak onto the ship without being seen. Trying to fight your way to Tussaud would be suicide”, Telaendril finished with an easy smile. “And now go out there and make us proud!”

The Imperial City still felt familiar, and that hint of recognition made Sylvana’s heart ache. Once, she had walked these streets with her head held high, and only deigned to give her attention to those she deemed deserving of it.
She had never been to the harbor; her father had deemed the sailors populating it “too dangerous and unpredictable”. But she found her way there all the same, keeping her head down and avoiding meeting anyone’s gaze. And there was the ship, its cargo still neatly packed up in boxes on the pier. A perfect chance. When nobody was looking, she slipped into one of the crates, closing the lid and hoping that she would be loaded onto the vessel soon; she was a small woman, but she still had to contort herself into a massively uncomfortable position to fit into a crate like that.
Luck seemed to be in her favor, at least; it didn’t take long before she felt the movement of being lifted up.
“Akatosh’s balls, were the crates always this heavy?”, complained a rough, male voice, and Sylvana couldn’t help but grimace at the uncouth phrasing and casual blasphemy. Those were pirates, alright.
“No”, a smooth, female voice deadpanned. “You’re just a weakling. Now stop whining and get the cargo on board.”
The man carrying Sylvana muttered something about a “bossy Dunmer wench”.

Sylvana waited for a few moments after the movement had ceased. When everything around her remained silent, she carefully lifted the lid of the crate and climbed out. Keeping to the shadows, she snuck across the cargo hold, past the crew’s quarters, up to the ladder to a hatch that led directly to the captain’s cabin. She climbed up, and carefully pushed through the hatch.

Tussaud had his back to her; he was leaning over a map of the seas bordering Cyrodiil and seemed deep in thought. So he didn’t even notice Sylvana, until the edge of her dagger dug itself into his throat. No hesitation this time, her movement steady, and her heart didn’t even skip a beat when the first drops of red drenched her gloves. Maybe it was just the knowledge that this man was a pirate, and like Gaspard and Rufio before him, had most likely done plenty to deserve his fate, but Sylvana could live with his death. Before turning away, she rifled through his pockets. Not the usual way of the Dark Brotherhood, but why let some good loot go to waste? She found a handful of septims and a key for the doors to the cabin. One of them was more of a window than a door, and would lead straight down to the water. A perfect escape route. Luckily, Sylvana’s nanny had taught her how to swim when she had been barely more than a toddler.
She unlocked the door, and jumped. The frigid waters of Lake Rumare met her, enveloped her like the arms of an eager lover, and she dove straight into its stinging embrace, away from the ship. Towards home, where her siblings were waiting.

Chapter Text

The sanctuary started to feel like home already; at least it already felt like Sylvana had arrived in a safe haven when the heavy stone door closed behind her and she basked in the twilight of the torch-lit main hall.
Gaston Tussaud was dead. She had successfully completed her first actual contract. It only now sunk in, and within Sylvana’s chest rose a pleasant warmth. Was this pride? Pride in successfully ending a life? The part of her that was still a respectable woman from a good house was horrified at the ease with which she now brought death, but that part was getting quieter with every hour, as if suffocated by the dark embrace of the Brotherhood.
She walked towards Vicente’s room, musing about the excited fluttering of her heart. She felt like a puppy expecting praise for fetching a stick. Except the stick was a dead pirate, and she hadn’t exactly fetched him. Just killed him.

Vicente was enjoying a small chalice full of blood when she entered his room; she didn’t dare ask where he had gotten it from. But he smiled at her warmly. “I assume you have fulfilled your contract?”
She nodded, trying hard to disguise her instinctual fear of Vicente’s nature.
His smile widened, allowing her a brief glimpse of his fangs. “Well done! Of course, I expected nothing less from you, after Lucien spoke so highly of your potential.” He paused and carefully looked her over. “However, it might be wise to continue honing your abilities. Not every mission is going to be as easy as this one. In fact…” He got up from his chair in one smooth movement, and turned to her, those pale eyes pinning her in place. “...since I am your current mentor in the Brotherhood, perhaps it is time for me to actually fulfill that role. Say, how good are you at stealth?”
“I have received no formal training, but I snuck past the sailors on the pirate ship just fine.”
He chuffed in amusement. “Sailors tend to be so deep in their cups, they scarcely know night from day. You can’t always rely on your targets being inebriated, so stealth training would be a good start. Follow me.”

The training hall was quiet at this hour. Vicente positioned himself at one of the two pillars supporting its ceiling, and motioned for Sylvana to go to the other end of the hall. “Try to sneak up on me”, he told her. Then he took off the golden amulet around his neck and stuffed it into the pocket of his breeches. “You pass the test if you can fish the necklace out of my pocket without me noticing.”
“What? Vicente, you’re a vampire. You have sharper senses than any mortal.”
He tilted his head and smiled, flashing his fangs at her, which made her heart lurch in panic. “Exactly. If you can learn how to sneak up on me, you’ll be able to sneak up on anyone. But first, the basics. Show me how you snuck through that ship.”
Sylvana took a deep breath, and crouched down, while Vicente walked around her to see her posture from all angles. Then he reached down to her waist, and her leg, to adjust her stance. “Remember to keep yourself low to the ground, and be mindful of your balance. Stealth is the ultimate test of self control.” His voice was soft, low, almost sensual, and the way he emphasized the words self control made her face heat up. He leaned down, close enough that Sylvana could feel his cold breath against the sensitive skin of her neck, and it sent shivers down her spine, though not in an entirely unpleasant way. No man had ever been this close to her; they had held and kissed her hand, at most. Not her waist. Not her leg. Nobody had ever been close enough for her to smell them, but now she found herself in a cloud of Vicente’s scent; old parchment, leather and the coppery tang of blood. All of that made her heart thunder in her chest, loud enough that Vicente should be able to hear it, making her head spin. “You have to be aware of every part of your body and how it interacts with your environment. Every movement has to be carefully adjusted to account for lighting, the texture and consistency of the ground, and objects around you that could either hide you or make noise and give away your position. Now, go to the other end of the hall, and try to steal my necklace.” He straightened up and leaned against the pillar again, leaving Sylvana only with the ghost of his touch on her waist, and a strange craving for more of it that set her teeth on edge- not because it was unpleasant, quite the opposite, in fact. But this was a training session, not a moment to be distracted by cold fingers and the scent of blood.
She took in the whole room, the racks of weapons, the practice dummies and archery targets. Then took her position, and crouched.

There wasn’t much distance to cover between her and Vicente, but she was so focused on trying to take in everything at once, like he had told her, that she hadn’t even seen him leave his spot until she had reached it. She looked around, confused. “Vicente?”
“Your breathing is too heavy; even a normal human would have been able to hear you.” His voice was suddenly behind her, right next to her ear, causing her to lose her balance and land flat on her face.
He chuckled, and Sylvana realized that he was teasing her. She scowled, which only made him laugh harder, and brushed the dust from her clothing. “You never said anything about leaving your spot.”
“Do you expect your prey to always remain obediently still?”, he responded dryly, still grinning wide enough to put his fangs on full display. “Perhaps we should try some breathing exercises first.”
He crouched down in front of her, so he was at eye-level with her, and reached out his hand to help her up. It was cold, as predicted, but his skin was smooth, with only the slightest hint of calluses that lent a certain roughness to his palm. “Do not be discouraged, dear sister. Stealth is an art that nobody can learn in just one day, and there are spells and potions that can help you get by until you have mastered it. Come now, try again.”

Sylvana tried it three more times, and made it a bit closer every time. During her last attempt, she had made it all the way to Vicente and had already reached for the chain of his necklace, when he evaded her with a sidestep at the last moment.
By the end of the training session, her legs were stiff and raw from the constant crouching, so that Vicente had to help her to her feet again.
She braced herself for a scolding, but he didn’t seem disappointed at all.
“As I said”, he told her gently. “It will take more than one day. Go and rest, sister; you deserve it after your hard work today. And of course you still get your payment for Tussaud’s death: 200 Septims.” He produced a small purse filled to the brim with coins, and a small brass ring with a black shimmer to it. “...and this ring. It’s enchanted to protect you from harm and make picking locks easier.”
Well, receiving a ring of all things from him sure didn’t help her confused feelings. She just muttered a shaky “Thank you” and stalked off to the community quarter, eager to get as much distance from him as possible for now. Maybe that would help her clear her head.

Later that evening, she lay in bed, but she couldn't sleep. Too many impressions kept bothering her, so she just played with her hair and watched Schemer as he ran around the room, grooming himself every now and then. He was kind of cute. In her previous life, she'd never seen a rat; rats were scary, dirty things. Monsters that spread disease and, fortunately, only the lower classes had to deal with them in their filthy slums. But when she looked at Schemer, she didn't see a beast, but a pair of shimmering, beady eyes and soft, well-groomed fur.
This is like a metaphor for my new life, she thought lazily. Nothing is as it should be. The murderers are good, the nobility is evil, and the rat is the most lovable little creature the world has ever seen.
What kind of world was this, where a respectable man had tried to put her in metaphorical chains while a group of assassins treated her like a beloved family member?
The rustle of fabric nearby told her she wasn't the only one lying awake; a few beds away, she could hear Telaendril whispering to Antoinetta-Marie: "Is Sylvana all right? She seems like her mind is somewhere else entirely."
Antoinetta-Marie giggled. "I think we have Vicente to thank for that. He was trying to teach her how to sneak properly, and when she came out of the training room, she was as red as a tomato."
Sylvana looked over at them. "I was not ‘as red as a tomato’."
The other two women fell silent for a moment, but then Antoinetta-Marie started giggling again. "No offense, Sylvie."
"It's not as if we judge you for it," Telaendril added. "On the contrary; I understand it all too well. Vampires are attractive creatures, and there's no better example of that than Vicente."
Antoinetta-Marie chuckled delightedly. "Oh, Tel, don't let Gogron hear that."
Gogron gro Bolmog was another brother living in this sanctuary, and his relationship with Telaendril was an open secret. Not least because he liked to boast about it.
Sylvana rolled her eyes, but it was a good-natured kind of annoyance. "I swear, there's nothing between Vicente and me."
"Yet. There is nothing between you and Vicente yet," Antoinetta-Marie corrected her.

Not even sleep could ease Sylvana’s mind. As soon as she drifted off, she was met with pale faces glaring at her from the darkness, each bearing the marks of their death. Her mother and father, rope-burns marking their necks, their heads lolling to the side because broken vertebrae right beneath the skull couldn‘t support their weight anymore, and the people she had killed: Gaspard, his face and head deformed by the fractured bone underneath, Rufio and Tussaud with bleeding cuts across their necks, curved almost like macabre grins.
Her three victims, she could have dealt with. But how could she face her parents, after all she had done?
“What a shame”, her father said, his voice a sharp whisper. “If I had known she’d turn out like this, I would have sold her to Gaspard and been done with her.”
“There was always something wrong with her”, her mother added.
“It was an accident”, Rufio whimpered. “I didn’t deserve this. I was sorry.”
“Does she even know why I had to die? Does she care?”, Tussaud mused.
Then there were arms around her, a cold body nestled tightly against her back in an intimate embrace.
“Be at peace, sister”, muttered Vicente's voice right behind her, his lips close enough to caress the shell of her ear. “We will take care of you. I will take care of you.”
His bite felt like an icicle being driven into her neck, but when she tried to scream, all she could produce was a hoarse, shuddering moan.

She woke with a yelp and immediately raised her hand to her neck, expecting to find bleeding wounds there, but only felt smooth, flawless skin.
She dropped back onto her pillow with a relieved sigh. A dream. It had just been a dream. Still, something was coiling in her very core… terror and something else; something she didn't dare name.

Vicente seemed to be in a good mood when she visited him after breakfast. He gave her a mischievous look and asked:”I trust that you had a pleasant night, sister?”
Sylvana opened her mouth in offense. “Did you do something to my dreams?!”
He laughed. “I possess no such power, but I tend to pick up on certain… signs, like your scent. It’s an advantage of having vampiric senses, I suppose.” Then his expression shifted to something more serious, and his gaze became so intense that she felt the urge to avert her eyes. “I am flattered by your interest, and maybe even similarly interested in you, but we cannot pursue this matter further. At least not yet, while I am still meant to teach you.”
That stung more than Sylvana had expected it to. But it was perfectly logical; otherwise, one might claim that he was abusing his position of power.
“Besides”, he continued, with a smirk that told her his reservations about sleeping with his mentee would not keep him from teasing her. “The longer you let the fruit grow, the sweeter it is when you pick it, so to speak.”
“In other words: You will do your best to drive me absolutely mad until then”, she responded dryly. “It's quite arrogant of you to assume it's you I'm after.”
He leaned forward, chin resting on his folded hands, with the smile of a cat that had gotten into the cream. “Oh? So you are interested in one of our brothers, then? Or perhaps one of our sisters?”
She crossed her arms in front of her chest and looked to the ground, evading his steady gaze. “Can we please change the subject? It's impolite to speak of these things so openly.”
Vicente blinked at her in sudden confusion, then honest remorse. “My apologies, sister. I did not mean to make you uncomfortable. Perhaps we should speak of your training, instead; there is no contract for you at the moment, which gives us a bit more time to work on your sneaking.”

Chapter Text

Days passed by in a blur of crouching, sneaking, and having Vicente dodge out of reach just when she was so sure that she would get the necklace this time.
Vicente had taken a step back, at least physically; while he still teased her with the occasional comment, he kept his hands to himself, which Sylvana was very thankful for.
She quickly noticed the change: Her balance improved, and she could keep her crouched position for longer periods of time before her legs started to cramp. With every attempt, she became more confident in what she was doing.
Vicente seemed pleased with her; he gave her a genuine smile when she almost managed to get the necklace. He had snatched it from her mid-grab, but she had been so close.

Outside of the training sessions, she found herself treading lightly out of sheer habit, keeping to the shadows, and more than once accidentally scared the living daylights out of her siblings. One time, she had startled Mraaj-Dar while he had been sorting his wares; his tail had puffed up like a feather duster, and he had cussed her out so loudly, it echoed through the whole sanctuary, despite her profuse apologies. After that incident, Ocheeva had taken her aside and jokingly threatened to make her wear a collar with a bell in the future.
“What in the Void is Mraaj-Dar’s issue with me?”, Sylvana asked Telaendril and Antoinetta-Marie the following evening, still a bit rattled from the Khajiit’s reaction. “I’ve never done anything to him… not intentionally, anyway.”
“Don’t mind him too much, Sylvie”, said Telaendril while polishing her bow. “A few years ago, we had a new brother join who was a bit… biased against Khajiit, and he brought that up at every opportunity.”
Antoinetta-Marie nodded with a compassionate frown. “Poor Mraaj suffered a lot during the short time that brother was here. But he was careful not to directly break any of our tenets, so we couldn’t officially throw him out.”
“And what became of him?”, Sylvana asked. In that context, Mraaj-Dar’s behaviour towards her made a lot of sense, but… there was no way the Brotherhood actually tolerated this kind of behaviour for long.
“Oh, he got himself killed during his second contract.” Telaendril grimaced. “Served him right, if you ask me. Not only did he terrorize Mraaj-Dar, he disrespected everyone here, including Ocheeva and even Lucien. You know what I think? Lucien deliberately had Vicente give him a particularly dangerous contract, just to get rid of him.”
“Good riddance”, Antoinetta-Marie muttered, and Sylvana found herself agreeing.

A week after her last mission, Vicente approached Sylvana in the morning, while she was sitting at the dinner table, a plate of bread, cheese and apples in front of her and Schemer comfortably curled up on her lap. “We have just received a new contract for you, dear sister. You are to stage a little accident for a Bosmer named Baenlin. It's the perfect opportunity for you to put your new skills to the test.”
“Tell me more”, she requested, absent-mindedly scratching Schemer between his big, round ears.
Vicente sat down on the chair next to hers. “Baenlin lives in Bruma. All you need to do is sneak into his house and find the crawl space above his living room. He sits right underneath it from sunset until he goes to bed. Then you drop the minotaur's head mounted on his wall on him, and get out before his manservant catches you.”
“Sounds easy enough”, Sylvana commented with an easy smile.
“It will be.” Vicente leaned over to her, eyes gleaming in the torchlight. “I have the utmost faith in you. Though maybe ask Mraaj-Dar to sell you some lockpicks before you leave. They could come in handy.”
“Oh, don't worry, I don‘t need lockpicks, unless the lock I'm dealing with is particularly complicated.” She raised her hand and let it glow a bit, filled with a strange pride at being so prepared, for lack of a better word. “My family taught me how to use magic to open locks when I was a child. In case I ever got kidnapped. I never ended up needing it until now, and it uses so much magicka that I can only use it once a day at most. But that should be enough, right?”
Vicente tilted his head, an appreciative smile on his face. “Fascinating.” Then his gaze softened. “Still, take some lockpicks with you, just for emergencies. It’s better to be safe than sorry.”

The area around Bruma was freezing cold, even during the warmer months, so Sylvana had bundled herself into a big, warm coat, which both kept her warm and disguised the leather armor underneath, and asked Antoineta-Marie to do her make-up again, before she borrowed Telaendril’s horse and travelled north.
It was a long trip, of almost two and a half days, during which she couldn’t help but ponder what Baenlin’s crime was. Surely nobody undertook the grizzly task of performing the Black Sacrament to contact the Dark Brotherhood for petty reasons.
Then again, people did all kinds of horrible things for petty reasons. Like dooming an entire family to ruin and death over a rejected marriage proposal. Sylvana bit her lower lip at the thought of that, shaking her head to somehow drive away the memory; it belonged to a different life, a different woman. But whenever she stopped and set up camp for the night, her dreams were tortured by the faces of the dead, and every time, she woke up drenched in sweat, her throat raw from crying out in her sleep.
She couldn’t even talk about it, now that she was travelling alone. While staring up into the starlit sky, she found herself missing her siblings. She could have easily found some comfort and distraction with Antoinetta-Marie, or Telaendril. Maybe Teinaava or Ocheeva could have talked her through her feelings. As soon as Sylvana got home, she would give the first brother or sister she ran into a hug. As long as it wasn‘t Mraaj-Dar.
She wrapped her arms around herself and let herself drop onto her back, staring into the night sky to watch the dancing colors of the Northern Lights.

Bruma appeared on the horizon at the dawn of the third day, and Sylvana reached its gates by noon. Her eyes wandered to the Bruma Castle; her parents had once taken her to visit Countess Narina Carvain, and she had spent the whole day playing in the snow. She swallowed the lump in her throat and turned away. The sooner she finished off Baenlin, the better.
With her hood drawn deep into her face, she entered the city and sought out her target’s house. It was one of the nicer abodes in this city, definitely belonging to a wealthy man. And like many bigger houses, it had a cellar that was conveniently accessible from outside the building itself. But it was still too early; it was barely past noon, and she didn’t want to sit in that stuffy crawl space for hours, just waiting for an opportunity to strike. So she would have some time to familiarize herself with the town and maybe map out an escape route.
An insistent growling from her stomach reminded her of yet another possibility: Getting lunch.

The Jerall View Inn was packed at this time of day, with travelers and locals alike enjoying some good food and company to drive away the cold. Sylvana found herself an empty table, way back in the corner, and ordered chevon with roasted leeks; dishes that were more typical for Skyrim than Cyrodiil. But Skyrim was practically next door to Bruma, so of course a lot of its culture bled over.
While Sylvana waited for her food, she tried to listen in to the conversations around her. Most of it was of little consequence; locals talking about this year’s harvest and idle gossip. She was about to just focus on planning out her mission further, when she suddenly heard her name.
“Have you heard what happened to that noblewoman from the Imperial City? Sylvana… something?”, asked one man, a traveler from the looks of it, a few tables over. The other person at the table, a woman, responded:”Sylvana Virelius. My cousin was her family’s maid. According to her, they were good enough people. What happened to them is shameful, I tell you.”
Sylvana held her breath, her hand gripping her mug of mead so tightly that her knuckles turned white.
“Do they have any idea where she disappeared to?”
The woman hesitated. “...I heard that she was so disgusted with the Imperial government for killing her parents that she left Cyrodiil. They’re still searching for her, if only to tell her what happened and that she now owns everything her parents left behind. A load of nonsense, if you ask me. They’re acting as if a few septims could make up for the death of her family. I wouldn’t bother with them, if I were her.”
She slowly exhaled. So it was all out in the open, now. All she would need to do was wash the fake wrinkles out of her face and approach the nearest guard, and she could get back to her rightful life as part of Cyrodiil’s high society. She could once again wear silk and velvet, and clinking gold jewelry, and dance with charming young noblemen. But when her eye got caught on the small brass ring on her shaking index finger, her heart sank.
No. She couldn’t do any of these things, because she now had a family she loved, and who loved her.
There was nothing left for her in the Imperial City, except for an empty house that was way too big for just her, and a lot of memories she’d rather forget. Which brought her back to her current mission: Baenlin had to die.

After the hearty meal, Sylvana stepped back out into the frigid air of the Jerall Mountains, and lingered for a moment to watch her breath puff up in small clouds of mist and then dissipate into the air; swept away like the person she once was.
The sun was slowly setting, which meant that it was time to get moving.

Her lockpicking spell made short work of the lock keeping the hatch to the cellar closed, and she slipped inside. The room she entered was empty, with wine racks stacked across the walls, but Vicente had taught her not to take any chances, so she snuck from shadow to shadow, stopping every so often to listen for any signs of movement. When she reached the door, she peeked through the keyhole, and found the hallway on the other side empty. This door wasn’t locked, so she could just carefully open it, just enough to get through.
She could see the staircase from where she stood. Sticking to the shadows, she made her way there, to the upstairs bedroom, which would give her access to the crawl space. However, as soon as she entered the bedroom, she heard someone clear their throat and froze.
There was someone in the room. How could she be so stupid?!
But the younger Bosmer didn’t seem hostile; in fact, there was a pleased sparkle in his eyes. He tilted his head in the direction of the crawl space, and Sylvana, not sure what else to do, nodded. So this had to be her client, then.
“Caenlin? Where are you, boy?”, Baenlin shouted from the ground floor.
The younger Bosmer turned to the door. “I’m coming, Uncle!” Then he gave Sylvana one final, conspiratorial smirk before leaving the room.
Sylvana didn’t dare imagine why a nephew would want to see his uncle dead. Not that it was any of her business; she was just here to fulfill a contract. So she squeezed herself behind the loose wall panel, and began to wait.

The space was tight, and stuffy, and dusty. More than once, she had to pinch her nose to keep herself from sneezing, and after just an hour or so, she felt like the walls were closing in on her. Like she was stuck back in the Imperial Prison, locked away like an animal.
She focused on her breathing. In, out. Just a little longer, and this would all be done, and she’d be on her way back home, to the nice, cool, spacious sanctuary. She’d hug her siblings and give Schemer all the table scraps he wanted.
Minutes dragged by like hours, but finally, she heard movement down in the living room. The unmistakable sigh of an old man who just sat down in his favourite chair.
Sylvana fumbled her dagger from the scabbard at her hip, and placed the blade against the old, frayed ropes holding the minotaur’s head in place. She stilled, feeling her heartbeat drum in her ears. This wasn’t her first kill, so why was she hesitating? Because, unlike her previous victims, unlike Gaspard, and Rufio, and Tussaud, Baenlin seemed to be just a harmless old man with an unfortunately greedy nephew?
Not that her refusal to kill him would change anything. If she failed, the Brotherhood would just send someone else.
The blade cut through the first strands of the rope. Then a few more. And finally, it gave way.
A crash, then a scream echoed through the house. She lingered for a moment, staring at the spot where the rope had been. So that was it. Her first innocent victim. Her hands trembled so much, she almost dropped the dagger when she tried to fumble it back into the sheath. It was time to leave. The sooner she left Bruma behind, the happier she would feel.
Hopefully, the nephew would at least be kind enough to keep the servant occupied while she fled.

Sylvana made her way back outside unhindered, and she found herself taking in a deep lungful of the mountain’s icy air, and releasing it again in one big, steaming exhale.
Another contract fulfilled, another soul sent to the Void. So why did this feel so different? Her stomach tensed, and she clenched her hands into fists to suppress the trembling.
Now, Baenlin would be just another face haunting her nightmares.

Close to three days later, she breathed a sigh of relief when she walked through the ancient stone door guarding the sanctuary, and felt the shadows welcome her with open arms. Home. She was finally home again, after almost a week.
Gogron was sitting in the main hall, polishing his warhammer, when he noticed her and raised his hand in greeting. “Sister! Welcome back!” He got up, putting his weapon and the rag aside, and walked up to her. “You look terrible. Did something happen?”
“Nothing. I think I just really need a hug.” She immediately bristled at how pathetic she sounded.
Gogron, however, didn’t seem to think so. He just looked flustered for a moment, and scratched the bald spot that now took up half of his head. “I’d give you one, but Ocheeva has told me not to.”
“So I heard”, Sylvana replied, recalling how Telaendril had told her about his difficulties with gauging his own strength. “But that doesn’t stop me from hugging you.” He was so tall and broadly built, her arms were barely long enough to wrap all the way around his mid-section, but she tried, and let her cheek rest against his ebony chestplate. Gogron froze for a moment, but then carefully patted her back, as if she was made of glass.
She remained in her position for a moment, before she asked:”Gogron? What was it like, the first time you killed someone innocent?”
He paused. “The same as killing someone guilty, I guess. In the end, a crushed skull is a crushed skull, am I right? If you want my advice: Just don’t think about it. It makes life easier.”
“Right”, Sylvana muttered and rubbed her tired eyes. Of course that would be his advice. “I think I’ll go lie down now. Thanks for the hug, Gogron.”
He smiled brightly. “Anytime, sister.”

Chapter Text

Sylvana found Vicente in his room, sitting in the half-light with an unopened book resting on his knees. He hadn’t noticed her yet- or perhaps he had, and chose not to say anything. For once, he didn’t wear his usual easy smirk, and the stillness in his face made him look… younger. Or older. She couldn’t tell. He looked up, and she just saw heavy shadows around his eyes, and the way his centuries of existence suddenly seemed to bear down on him.

“Oh, Sylvana. You’re back.” He motioned for her to sit down on the other chair at the little table. “How did your contract go?”

His voice had changed; there was no teasing anymore, just a weariness so deep that she almost felt it herself.

“It went well”, she told him, picking at dust motes on the table to avoid his gaze, in case he was self-conscious of his current state. “Everything went according to plan.” After a brief silence, she looked up and found Vicente also avoiding meeting her eyes. “Is something the matter?”

He bristled for a moment, then let out a long, defeated sigh. “It’s nothing, really. The anniversary of my parents’ death is approaching, so I always tend to get a little moody around this time.” He smiled at her, but it didn’t reach his eyes. 

She didn’t reciprocate the smile, and her voice softened in understanding. “That's not nothing, Vicente.”

“It should be”, he replied maybe a bit too quickly. “Besides, I’m sure you're not here to listen to a sentimental old fool prattle on about his past. I still owe you your payment for the latest kill, don't I?” He pulled a satchel full of coins and a dagger on the table, and Sylvana noticed that his hand was shaking. The weapon was decorated in a similar style as her current dagger, but its blade and hilt were both curved, so they shaped a very flat S, and it glowed deep red with magic. 

Sylvana took her reward, before looking at Vicente again. “Are you sure you don't want to talk?” She reached out for his hand on the table, only letting the tips of her fingers graze the back of it.

He deflated a little. “Quite sure. I appreciate your concern, sister, but these memories are my burden to bear. Please, do not worry about me.” He took her hand in both of his and gave it a reassuring squeeze before letting her go.

She left, hoping that some time alone would help him find his emotional balance again.

Sylvana wanted to respect Vicente's request for space, she really did. But when two more days passed without any improvement, she wasn't the only one getting a little antsy. She caught other siblings casting worried glances in the direction of his room. They occasionally knocked on his door, under the pretense of bringing him some blood, or returning a book they borrowed, or asking him to join them in playing dice. He'd only give one or two word answers and then close the door in their faces.

“It's never been this bad before”, Ocheeva sighed on the evening of the third day. As soon as the sun had set, Vicente had left the sanctuary without telling anyone where he was going and when he'd be back. “I'm honestly at my wit's end.”

Sylvana agreed; she had been among those trying to coax him out of his room for the past few days, and failed just as miserably as everyone else.

Telaendril walked into the community quarter, bow still slung over her shoulder from her contract. She looked straight at Sylvana, and then turned her eyes upwards. Sylvana furrowed her brows. Was she trying to tell her something?

When she didn’t understand immediately, Telaendril briefly rolled her eyes. ”It's a beautiful night, maybe he just went on a walk to clear his head.”

At last, the septim dropped, and Sylvana got up from the table. “A walk does sound nice, actually.”

As soon as she stepped into the decrepit house that hid the sanctuary's entrance, she noticed that the ancient layers of dust over the ground had been disturbed; a trail of bootprints led up the stairs. She followed it, finding a hatch to the roof at the end of it; slightly open, allowing cool air to flood the dusty room. She pushed it up and climbed into the autumn air.

Vicente sat next to the chimney, eyes fixed on the endless, starlit sky.

“I was wondering when someone would come up here to look for me”, he said, his voice heavy and tired.

Sylvana remained silent for a little moment, taking in his dark silhouette. “Everyone is worried about you.”

“I noticed”, he replied, his voice sharp with sarcasm. Then he quickly caught himself. “I am so sorry, sister. I shouldn’t be lashing out like this. Please forgive me.”

She took a few cautious steps closer. “May I sit with you for a while?”

“Are you going to leave if I say no?” 

“Maybe. But if I go back without even trying to talk to you, I fear that Gogron is going to come up here next and just drag you back down.”

Vicente snorted. “He would.” Then he sighed and patted the spot next to him. “Go ahead.”

She sat down, the cold of the stone shingles biting even through her cloak.

For a while, neither of them spoke, just stared into the diamond speckled sky, following the slow arch of the moons across the deep black of eternity.

“I try to remember them, sometimes”, he admitted quietly. “But by now, I have forgotten what they even looked like.” He looked over to her. “What was it like for you, when you lost your mother and father?”

She opened her mouth in surprise. Then closed it again and averted her eyes. “Of course you already know about that.” She ran her fingers through her hair. “It all happened so suddenly; I think I was too busy worrying about survival to really think about their deaths.” She lowered her head, staring at her folded hands. “I loved them, I suppose.” She laughed, but there was no joy in the sound. “I never really thought about them that much when they were alive. They were just… there, and I never questioned it or even tried to imagine a world without them. Having them around was just one of those inevitable facts of life, like the sun rising in the east.”

“And now you wish you had appreciated them more”, Vicente added. It wasn’t a question, just a statement, underlined with grim understanding. “That’s how it usually goes with loss. It’s why I try not to get too attached to anyone in the Brotherhood.”

“What do you mean?”

He smiled; it was still a weary smile, but it seemed genuine this time. “I have been part of the Dark Brotherhood for 200 years now, Sylvana. Do you have any idea how many brothers and sisters I’ve seen come and go in this time? I’d have grieved myself into a belated grave if I had taken all of their deaths to heart.” His gaze wandered to the sky again. “I cared for them, had friends, and occasionally even lovers. But with every moment I shared with them, came a moment of preparation for their passing. Such is the life of a vampire.” 

“And what changed?”, she asked gently. What could possibly make this anniversary worse for him than all the other anniversaries before it?

He looked at her, and her skin prickled with the intensity of his gaze. Softness, affection. She tried to tell herself that she was imagining it, if only to avoid the thought of how much she wanted there to be affection in his eyes.

“Everything.”

This one word hung in the air for a moment as they both fell back into silence, though more comfortable now.

After a while, Vicente stretched with a relieved groan. “I think it’s about time we return to the sanctuary, before they actually send Gogron to get us.” He pulled himself to his feet, then reached out for her. “I certainly owe our siblings an apology.”

She took his hand, an easy, teasing smile on her face. “That’s an understatement.”

On their way back down to the sanctuary, she noticed that he didn’t let go of her hand; part of her really wanted that to mean something. But she decided that the two of them had done enough talking about their feelings that day, and thus left it uncommented.

The others were still gathered around the dinnertable, and looked up when Vicente and Sylvana entered the room.

Vicente cleared his throat. But before he could say anything, Gogron got up from his seat and dragged him over to an empty chair. “Vicente! Perfect timing! We were just about to start a game of cards. Sit, sit! Mraaj-Dar, deal him in!” 

“Come on, Sylvie”, said Antoinetta-Marie. “It’ll be fun!”

“Actually, I meant to-” Vicente began, but Ocheeva placed her hand on his shoulder.

“It’s alright, brother. We all have our difficult days. As long as you remember to eventually return to us, there is no need for explanations.”

Vicente looked around, at everyone gathered. Then at Sylvana. His eyes brightened.

“What do you say, sister? If you manage to win against me, I’ll take over your share of chores for a week.” He leaned back in his chair, with a teasing twinkle in his eyes that was more like the Vicente she knew again.

“Daring”, she commented with a smirk and sat down. “I hope you don’t mind getting your hands dirty.”

Chapter Text

Life in the sanctuary went back to normal, just like Vicente’s mood. The tension in the air had lifted, and everyone breathed easier.
Perhaps a bit too easy, Sylvana thought the next day, when a broadly grinning Antoinetta-Marie nudged her in the side with her elbow and whispered:”Did I hallucinate last night, or were Vicente and you really holding hands when you came home?”
“Maybe”, Sylvana said in a flat voice that would have told a more perceptive person to drop the subject. “Don’t think about it too much.” I know I’m trying not to, she added mentally. She tried to keep in mind what Vicente had said; that he was interested in her, but didn’t feel comfortable pursuing any physical relationship with her while he was still meant to be her mentor. A perfectly reasonable boundary to set, sure. But patience wasn’t easy.
Antoinetta-Marie pouted. “Come on, Sylvie. Give me something. What happened yesterday? Did you two kiss?”
“Toni…” She pinched the bridge of her nose. Hopefully, she’d soon get another contract that would get her out of the sanctuary and away from her sister’s questions. “You’re reading too many romance novels.”
Antoinetta-Marie clutched her imaginary pearls in mock-offense. “Perish the thought, dear sister! I am merely delighting in my favourite siblings finding joy in each other!”
“All siblings are your favourite siblings.”
The younger Breton shrugged. “So? My point still stands.”
Sylvana let out a sound somewhere between a sigh and a chuckle. “Fair that. But still, you don‘t have to know everything going on between Vicente and me. After all…” She winked. “A lady doesn‘t kiss and tell, right?”
Vicente had surely known what kind of effect their entrance the night before would have, and if he could ignore the gossip, then she would try to do the same. With that in mind, she walked towards the training hall, for another lesson with him.

By now, sneaking had become second nature to her. But a human second nature was still not enough to get past vampiric senses, and thus, the goal of fishing the necklace out of Vicente’s pocket seemed to remain out of reach.
“I don’t know what I’m doing wrong at this point”, she admitted once they exited the training room.
“You’re not doing anything wrong, you just need to refine the skills you already have”, he explained, holding the door to the community quarter open for her. “You’ve already improved a lot since you started; sneaking past mortals should be no problem for you by now. Sadly, you cannot rely on all of your targets being mortal.”
It should be so easy, really. Just getting close enough to him, reach out her hand, and take the necklace. She had mentally gone through that process dozens of times. A light movement, and then, the long awaited victory.
“I’m sure you’ll get it soon.”
“Will I?”, she asked, a playful lilt in her voice.
Vicente stopped, and his hand wandered to his pocket.
Empty.
He turned to her, and Sylvana grinned at him like a child on Saturalia, her hand raised, the necklace dangling from her index finger.
His mouth hung open in surprise for a moment, then he started laughing. “Not bad! Not bad at all.”
“So I’m guessing that my training is complete, then?”, she quipped, and handed her prize back to him.
He took a deep breath and shook his head, as if to shake off the laughter. “You have certainly earned your promotion.”
She paused. “A promotion?”
His remaining chuckles stilled. He gave her a confused look, then his eyes widened. Did she imagine things, or did he really look flustered? “Oh Sithis, I completely forgot to tell you. You received a promotion after your last contract.”
Sylvana blinked; the information took a moment to really be processed. “And what does that mean for me?”
He cleared his throat and straightened his back. “From now on, you have the rank of Slayer. Which means that you will now get slightly more difficult contracts that also pay better than the previous ones.”
Sylvana hadn’t even known that there were ranks in the Dark Brotherhood; at least not in detail. She only knew that Ocheeva, as the mistress of the sanctuary, was of a higher rank than the rest of her siblings, and Lucien, as a Speaker, was above Ocheeva. Nobody had ever mentioned anything beyond that.
“And what's your rank?”, she asked further. Given that he was trusted with training new arrivals, surely Vicente's rank had to be quite high.
“Does it matter?”
She shuffled her feet and stared at the ground. “You said to me that we couldn't really think about us while you are my mentor. Will I have to wait until we have the same rank?” She immediately bit her lip, almost hard enough to draw blood, at the realization of how childish she sounded.
“Impatient, are we?”, he teased. “No, you won't have to wait that long. Maybe we can revisit the matter when you have successfully completed a few more contracts. Just so I can be sure that you don’t need any further guidance.”
Her heart skipped a beat, letting a gentle warmth spread through her chest. It wasn’t a promise, but it was something.

Sanctuary life droned on, a quiet rhythm that set Sylvana's mind at ease. She sat in the main hall, idly sharpening her new dagger and listening to the hushed conversations of her siblings around her.
According to Vicente, the weapon's name was Sufferthorn, a name so stereotypically evil sounding that it was almost comical. But he had cautioned her that it held it for a good reason; its enchantment was quite potent, so she should be careful not to nick herself while sharpening and polishing it.
After a while, Vicente approached, with a barely contained grin on his face.
“Someone's in a good mood”, she teased.
“Only to pass it on to you. I have a new contract for you, and it will be quite the treat.”
She put Sufferthorn aside. “Then don't keep me in suspense like that. Where do I need to go, and who do I need to kill?”
His grin widened, showing his fangs. Not too long ago, the sight had sent her into a panic; now it sent her mind into quite a different direction. A morbid kind of curiosity. What would these fangs feel like when they dug themselves into her tender flesh? What would it be like, having her blood flow from her body to another? The thought should have disturbed her, but it didn’t.
She snapped out of her reverie when Vicente began talking again:“Do you know a Dunmer called Valen Dreth?”
The mention of that name immediately killed any kind of lustful daydreaming; Sylvana's eyes darkened. “Unfortunately, all too well.”
Obviously pleased with her reaction, he continued:”Your next contract involves sneaking into the Imperial Prison and killing him. There's a secret tunnel through the sewers under the city that leads right there… but you already know that, don't you?” He smirked. “Kill him to receive your pay, avoid killing any of the guards on your way there to receive a bonus.”
Incredible; she'd not only get the opportunity to silence that nasty lout for good, but she'd also get paid for it? Sithis was truly real, and smiled upon his faithful daughter.
“Consider it done.”

Sylvana packed everything for a trip to the city. She didn’t bother with makeup this time; she was no wanted woman anymore, and if the guards caught her while breaking into the prison, a disguise wouldn’t save her anyway. So she just took a cloak to hide her armor during the ride, and Sufferthorn.
As she was walking towards the door, someone grabbed her arm and held her in place. Surprised, she turned to find Antoinetta-Marie standing at her side, breathing heavily and holding onto Sylvana's arm so tightly, her nails were leaving small, crescent-shaped indents in black leather of her vambrace.
“Be careful”, she whispered, her voice quiet and hoarse. She looked up at Sylvana with huge, glassy eyes, all traces of the usual rosiness gone from her face. “Please.”
“Toni? What's wrong?”
Antoinetta-Marie averted her eyes again. “I spent a long time in that prison. The guards… they know how to inflict pain without leaving a mark, and they revel in it. They know who they can hurt without consequence. Please, Sylvie, promise that you won't let them put their filthy hands on you.”
Sylvana let her sister's words sink in for a moment. An uncomfortably tight burning spread in her stomach, like overflowing stomach acid. She softly clicked her tongue. “You're putting me in quite a bind here. The contract says to only kill the target and spare the guards. Now I just want to march in there and unleash hell on the whole lot of them.”
“Sylvie-”
“I swear I will be careful. They won't even know I was there”, she promised and pulled Antoinetta-Marie into a tight hug. “I’ll be back before you know it. You'll see.”
Once Sylvana left her sister and the sanctuary behind, her eyes darkened once more.
She couldn’t kill any guards while she was inside of the prison, so the contract said.
But she had a plan.

Chapter Text

Every part of Sylvana was fighting against her when she stood in front of the iron gate blocking her way into the sewers. After once again getting used to regular baths with hot water and soap, the thought of having the stink of sewage clinging to her made her nauseous and itchy. Surely there was a different way into the prison?
Unfortunately, she had no time to find one. Not when her fingers were itching in anticipation, ready to test Sufferthorn’s enchantment on her target.
It wasn’t just the smell that gave her pause, though; Antoinetta-Marie’s words were still echoing in her mind, and a small part of her whispered of all the things that could go wrong. But that thought also, oddly enough, fed into her determination.
For three weeks, Valen Dreth had tormented her while she had been forced to watch her life crumble to dust right in front of her eyes; had called her a pasty whore and worse, had taunted her, in grotesquely graphic detail, with the things the guards liked to do to “helpless little girls” like her. Back then, she had dismissed it as just him making up stories to scare her for his entertainment.
After what Antoinetta-Marie had told her, she wasn't so sure of that anymore. The guards had never so much as touched Sylvana after the day they had thrown her in her cell; perhaps too afraid that she might be proven innocent and use her regained influence to go after them.
And that made it worse. The bastard had known that there was a chance that Sylvana might be beaten, or tortured, or raped, and he'd taken pleasure in it. How many times had he watched women be brought in, abused, and then released with scars that would never fade? How many times had he laughed at their cries for help?
Her hand tightened around the hilt of Sufferthorn, and the blade hummed in response, as many enchanted objects tended to do, though in that moment, it felt like it was sharing her rage and excitement. No, she couldn’t afford to hesitate. Not when there was, for once, actual justice to be brought to someone deserving of it.
With one last, deep breath of fresh air, she pressed on.

The sewers hadn’t lost any of their “charm” since her last visit. But this time, Sylvana was a woman on a mission, and that was all she allowed to take up space in her mind. Not the stench, not the filth, not the rats scurrying out of her way with indignant squeaks.
She dashed from shadow to shadow, until it felt like her very being melted into it. The sewers faded into a dusty, but less disgusting tunnel. She dodged the gazes of the patrolling guards, diving into the cover of darkness every time her shoe nudged a pebble and made them look around. The guards were chatting, and every fragment of conversation she overheard made her grit her teeth. Here they were, pretending to be so righteous, only to eventually go back to torturing people for fun. And to think that Sylvana had once felt safe in the presence of the Imperial Legion!
Just you wait, she thought. Your time will come soon enough.

The time until she reached the secret entrance to her old cell felt like an eternity, and yet passed in less than a heartbeat. She lingered, peeking around the corner.
There was a guard standing in front of Dreth’s cell.
“So, your sentence is almost over, is it?” The armored man’s voice was positively dripping in mock-affection. “We will miss you, you know? It was a fun eleven years.”
Dreth spat in his face. “Oh yes, I will be thinking about these years when I relax on the beaches of Summerset with your wife, Imperial dog!”
The guard reached into the cell to grab Dreth by the collar and pulled back sharply, slamming his face against the iron bars so hard that it left the Dunmer with a split lip and a dark bruise over his right eyebrow. Then he got really close to him, in a gesture that felt disturbingly intimate. “Something is telling me that you’ll be back here soon enough. You'll miss us, and your daily beatings, too. And we’ll be waiting for you.” He let go of him and walked away, laughing to himself, while Dreth leaned against the cell door, dazed and bleeding.
Once she was sure that the guard was gone, Sylvana slipped out of her hiding place.
Dreth spotted her… and his face lit up. “Oh, it’s you! You made it out! Hey, why don’t you help an old friend, hm? You escaped just fine; it would only be fair for you to let me out, too. What do you say?”
Her scowl deepened, and her hand tensed around her weapon. “Sorry to disappoint you, old friend, but the Night Mother has other plans.”
His eyes widened. “Wha- I- No! L-listen, when they came here and found the old bastard dead, I told them what happened! I told them all about how he lied about your family! I helped clear your name! That’s worth something, right? Right?!”
She clenched her teeth. Did he think that one decent act made up for everything else? She swallowed, looking deep inside herself for any urge to spare him, but she found… nothing. Nothing but a void so deep it would swallow any attempt at empathy and spit it out unrecognizably twisted.
“I am sorry”, she said- a lie she didn't even pretend to believe. “All I can grant you is a quick, painless death.” Before he could scream, or otherwise react, she grabbed him by the collar with one hand to hold him in place, and plunged Sufferthorn into his chest with the other. He struggled only briefly, trying to waste his last few heartbeats on his usual insults. Then he crumpled to the ground, as soon as her grip didn’t hold him in place anymore.
The deed was done, and something in her chest, a part of her she didn't feel comfortable acknowledging yet, purred in deep satisfaction when Dreth's blood had soaked her glove.
She should have left. But there was one last thing she had to do.
She approached an empty cell and placed her hands on the lock. Antoinetta-Marie deserved some justice, and Sylvana would make sure she received it, in a way that would be impossible to trace back to the Brotherhood. Drawing from the magic inherent in her Breton blood, she placed a rune inside the keyhole, small enough to not draw any attention, so it would explode in the face of the next person who tried to lock it; a key being inserted would set it off.
It was difficult, and would probably not be as effective as Sylvana would like it to be. It required a spell from the school of Destruction, which she wasn’t particularly familiar with, so once triggered, the explosion would only take out one person; the one that put the key in the lock, and maybe maim one or two more if they were standing close enough. She stepped back and gave her work a long, thoughtful look. The rune was barely visible, even for her. Just the faintest hint of a glow, like someone had dropped a tiny coil of tightly-condensed heat into the keyhole. She wiped her forehead, suddenly shivering, as if the spell had leeched all the warmth from her bones.
It would have to suffice, as much as she would have loved to have the ability to blow the whole damn building straight to the Void, along with all of the Emperor's lapdogs inside. But it was a start.
Sylvana would sit safely back home in Cheydinhal, and days, maybe weeks from now, a hapless guard would try to lock in a new prisoner and be rewarded with a one-way trip straight to Sithis. Nobody would know that it was her work.

She breathed a sigh of relief as soon as she left the sewers behind. The deed was done, Sithis was appeased, and a new face would join her nightmares. A good day, all around. Now, she just wanted to get home quickly, to scrub the lingering traces of the day out of her skin and hair.

Chapter Text

The chill of the Imperial Prison still clung to Sylvana during her ride home, but it all fell away from her the moment the ancient stone door creaked open with the usual greeting of “Welcome home” and she was enveloped by pleasantly cool air, bearing the tang of iron and the heavy musk of incense.

Sylvana had barely taken a single step inside when she got tackled by a very excited Antoinetta-Marie.

“Sylvie! Thank the Void you're home!” She quickly released Sylvana from her vice-like hug and stepped back an arm's length to take a close look at her. “Are you hurt? I swear if they as much as looked at you funny, I-”

“Toni”, Sylvana interrupted her with a loving smile. “Breathe. I'm fine. Nobody hurt me. I'm just tired and…” She briefly sniffed herself and scrunched up her nose. “...in dire need of a bath.” Her exasperation masked the fluttering in her chest; an overwhelming joy at being loved. The memory of the prison's cold, dark cells felt like a distant nightmare compared to it.

Antoinetta-Marie sniffed her as well, and grimaced. “Oof, you really are. Alright, then. Go and relax. I'll bring you something to eat later.”

Sylvana chuckled and tousled her hair. “Thank you, Toni. I appreciate it.”

Moments later, Sylvana lounged in the bathtub, allowing the blessedly hot water to soothe her tense muscles. 

The bathwater had been cold at first. Luckily, it only took a very basic fireball spell to heat it up to again. Was it wise of her to further deplete her magicka after already draining so much of it for the trap she had set in the prison? Probably not. But the feeling of sinking into the embrace of steaming, patchouli-scented bliss was worth it .

Footsteps approached the bathing area, which had been sectioned off from the rest of the community quarter with a simple room-divider made of dark wood.

“Sylvana?”

She smiled lazily. “Hello, Vicente.”

After a brief pause, he asked in a low voice: “Why didn’t you come see me right away?”

“I thought you might appreciate me getting cleaned up first”, she replied with a playful lilt, but Vicente wasn’t in the mood for jokes.

He let out a deep, frustrated sigh. “May I come closer? I prefer not to speak to shadows.”

Sylvana froze, and looked down at herself, covered by nothing but water and soap, and her face felt like it caught fire. The only man who had ever seen her like this had been her father, on the day of her birth. But something in Vicente’s voice gave her pause; he didn’t sound like a man trying to sneak a premature peek at his beloved's body. With that in mind, she reluctantly said: “Go ahead.”

He stepped past the divider, and his gleaming eyes came to rest on her. There was no smile on his face, and his gaze held a piercing intensity unlike anything she had seen before. It took a few seconds of awkward silence for Sylvana to realize what was happening.

He was checking her for bruises .

When he looked into her eyes and saw the understanding in them, the tension left his body, and he took on his usual, relaxed posture again. “My apologies, sister. I fear I may have let Antoinetta-Marie’s stories get to me.”

“You’re far from the only one”, she whispered tenderly and reached out her hand to take his.

He pulled a nearby footstool closer and sat down. Now, his only focus was her face, and his usual smile bloomed on his lips. “I hope you don’t mind me keeping you company for a bit. There is something important I needed to talk to you about. A new contract.”

She opened her mouth in surprise. “Already? I just got back from the last one!”

“I know, I know. But this mission is a bit… time sensitive. And unusual.” He briefly frowned.

Sylvana raised an eyebrow. “Define ‘unusual’.”

“You are to help a man fake his own death.”

Awkward silence.

She blinked at him, unsure if she had heard that correctly. “I, as an assassin , am supposed to help someone fake his own death.”

Vicente pinched the bridge of his nose. “Ridiculous, isn’t it? But our client has reached an understanding with the Night Mother, and sacrificed a soul to Sithis, as is demanded, so she has decided that we will accept the contract.”

Sylvana let the back of her head drop against the rim of the bathtub. “And here I was looking forward to a few days of peace and quiet.”

“It won’t keep you away from here for too long, I hope. You need to seek out Francois Motierre in Chorrol-”

“Chorrol?!”, she interjected. “That’s almost on the other end of the country!”

Vicente lifted his hands in a pacifying gesture. “I know . I have taken the liberty of making a deal with the Mage’s Guild. They will let you use their teleportation sigils to get there and back.” He gently squeezed her hand. “I wish I could give you time to rest, first. But we can't risk the debt collectors getting to Motierre before we do.” Deciding that he needed to sweeten the deal, he smirked at her. “Besides, getting this farce over with as soon as possible is in both of our best interest, as well.”

“ Oh ?” She tilted her head in his direction. 

“Yes. Because this will be the last contract that you will receive from me. Which means…” He lowered his voice by an octave and gave her a meaningful look. “You, my dear, will have officially outgrown my tutelage.”

Her irritation was swept away in an instant. Vicente would no longer be her mentor. The realization, the unspoken promise in his words, sent a jolt through her entire body that made her toes curl. Soon, he would not see her as his student anymore, but just a woman; a woman he could kiss, and touch, and… he would. He had promised and teased her with it for so long.

“Then there is no time to waste, is there?” She paused for a moment. “Uhm. Vicente? Could you maybe turn around, so I can get out of the water and get dressed?”

He gave her an indulgent nod and disappeared behind the divider again. “Of course.”

Sylvana tried to ignore the disgusted glares of Cheydinhal's local mages as she walked through their guild hall, a paralytic poison-coated dagger fastened to her belt and a vial of antidote in her pocket, towards the promised teleportation sigil. Next to it stood an Altmer with a sneer on his face. “I hope you and your… organization are aware that this is a non-recurrent arrangement.”

She gave him a look that would have made a Dremora shiver, but remained silent. That kind of attitude deserved no response, especially when the unmistakable smell of death and magic radiated from his otherwise pristine clothing. How hypocritical for an acolyte of the forbidden art of Necromancy to cast judgement upon the children of Sithis. She briefly considered making a snide remark about it; not obvious enough to let the other mages in on his dirty little secret, but just enough to make it clear that she knew. 

She stepped into the sigil, and its magic enveloped her, filling every vein of hers with a soft, magical humming. Suddenly, it felt like she was being jerked forward, and she almost lost her balance. But she caught herself just in time. Thank Sithis; she would have hated to embarrass herself in front of a whole building full of mages.

She stepped down from the sigil's pedestal, and was met with the same kind of hostility as before, just from different people. She adjusted her braid and armor, and walked out, without granting the mages as much as a passing acknowledgement.

Chorrol was, at first glance, a lot more developed than Cheydinhal. It lacked the freely growing trees and flowers that gave Sylvana's new hometown its rural, almost whimsical charm. Chorrol was all cobblestone streets and tall stone buildings trying really hard to emulate castles and failing miserably. The whole place was just… horribly lifeless.

Luckily, Motierre’s house was directly across the street from the Mage’s Guild.

The “house” was more of a small mansion. Why would a man wealthy enough to live like this have trouble with debt collectors? Unless he had borrowed money to buy this place, in which case he deserved to die for his stupidity alone. She pushed through the door, and a short man with greasy, shoulder-length hair and a wispy mustache stumbled back so hard that he landed on his behind.

“A-are you the one Lachance talked about? You have to be, right?” Then he paused, and his eyes went wide. “Oh. I hadn’t expected the assassin to be so… small.”

“One more word and I’m walking right back out”, Sylvana responded curtly. Motierre was easily a finger’s width or two shorter than her. He had some nerve complaining about her being ‘too small’. And the way he said it! There was no malice there; it sounded like the kind of innocently offensive remark one would normally expect from a child, not a grown man. 

He shook his head frantically. “No! Please don’t leave! I didn’t mean it that way. Look, my debtors sent this Argonian enforcer. His name is Hides-His-Heart. He should be here any minute, and he has to see me die.”

Sylvana crossed her arms in front of her chest. “So I’ll pretend to kill you. And then?”

“You escape from Hides-His-Heart and wait until nightfall, and find me in my family’s crypt, beneath the Chapel of Stendarr. Do not, under any circumstances, kill him! He has to tell his employers that I am dead. Once you revived me with the antidote, you need to escort me to the Gray Mare inn! Easy, right?”

Sylvana sighed long and wearily. “Yes, of course. It will be done as the contract demands. So when will this enforcer arrive?”

Just as she had said that, someone slammed their fist against the door in three sharp raps. “Motierre! I know you’re in there! Why don’t you open up, hm? Make this easier for both of us. I’ll even let you beg for your life a bit!”

Motierre paled. “That’s him! Oh Divines, he’s already here!”

“Maybe you should reconsider your choice in prayer. After all, it’s a child of Sithis, not the Divines, who is about to save your hide”, Sylvana said.

Hides-His-Heart continued pounding on the door, and Motierre yelped in terror with every rap, until the hinges gave way under the relentless assault. The Argonian stepped in, tail excitedly tapping on the ground. “Motierre! I am here to demand payment! In blood! You will- eh? Who’s this?”

Motierre put the back of his hand against his forehead and whined: “Oh no! What am I to do? An underworld enforcer and an assassin of the Dark Brotherhood, both here to kill poor Francois!”

Is this guy serious?, Sylvana asked herself. He was. She had been prepared for a lot of things to happen, but not for her client to be a terrible actor like that. And worse, she was supposed to join in on the charade! Luckily, her part of it was silent. Though even if she had to put on a performance… it couldn’t have been worse than Motierre’s. She drew the poisoned dagger and stabbed him in the side, just deep enough to let the poison do its work, but not deep enough to actually injure vital organs.

He dropped to the ground with a loud, theatrical groan. “Oh no! Poison! It burns!” 

Hides-His-Heart’s eyes flicked over to her, burning with rage. “You Dark Brotherhood mongrel! I’ll make you regret meddling in my affairs!”

He actually believed Motierre's act. Had the whole world gone mad while Sylvana's back was turned?

“Oh don’t worry, I’m already regretting it”, she replied and dodged the strike of his blade, feeling the sharp draft of air caused by it. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have places to be.” When he gathered momentum for another swing, she dove past him and out of the house.

The houses and streets of Chorrol flew past her in a blur. But she did not actually leave the city; she just drew her hood lower and hid near the main gate, until she saw Hides-His-Heart stomp by, leaving the city in a huff. She could not believe that the plan had actually worked. But then again, it was fine by her; a simple, well-executed plan just meant that she would be back home quicker.

She stood up from her hiding place and stretched, making her joints pop. At least now the worst part was over, and she just had to wait until night to deal with the rest. 

The things I do for my beloved family , Sylvana thought when she broke into the chapel of Chorrol in the dead of night. And especially for Vicente The thought of him was the only thing keeping her somewhat grounded, and her hand away from her dagger.

The chapel was dark and deserted at this time of night. She only briefly looked over to the altar, where people prayed to Stendarr during the day, but then turned away; she had no reason to revere a god of mercy and justice anymore. Not when he had so clearly abandoned her in her darkest hour.

Her magic made short work of the door that led to the Motierres' crypt. This family had to have been influential at some point, if they had a dedicated crypt in the chapel. So how could it be that Francois Motierre was a destitute little weasel on the run from debtors? Sylvana knew how quickly the tides could turn against even the most fortunate, of course. But Motierre had to have fallen pretty far to end up like this.

Ironic as it was for her as a disgraced noblewoman to judge the man, at least her fall had left her dignity intact.

She found him laid out on an altar, and carefully placed the vial with antidote against his lips. Color returned to his face, his eyes opened, and he sat up. He looked genuinely relieved to see her. She didn’t care. She wasn't his friend, and if the Night Mother's orders didn't still her hand, he would *not* have woken up.

"Oh, you're finally here!" He paused, his face once again losing color. "Uhm. I may have forgotten to mention that my family's crypt is a little bit... well... cursed. And my ancestors may view your intrusion as a desecration of their final resting place."

Sylvana stared at him, mouth agape. "Please tell me you're joking." A hollow, drawn-out groan blowing a cloud of putrid air into her back let her know that he very much wasn't.

Motierre gasped in horror. "Aunt Margaret! Divines, you look horrible!"

Sylvana unleashed a series of curses that would have made her poor mother faint. Then she grabbed Motierre by the sleeve and began dragging him towards the door,  elbowing zombies aside until her armor was slick with rotten blood and other, infinitely worse fluids. She had just bathed this morning! 

One of the shambling corpses latched onto her right shoulder, and its teeth sunk deep into the leather. It wouldn’t be an open wound, just a bruise, but she still yelped in pain before shaking the zombie off.

"Just so we're clear", she said while dashing towards the safety of the chapel. "If I could, I would kill you right now!"

She ripped the door to the chapel open and shoved Motierre through, followed him and slammed it shut again. It echoed through the empty chapel like a clap of thunder, only to eventually be swallowed by the darkness. The scratching on the other side of the door also faded soon after, and the room grew silent. At least until Sylvana turned to Motierre, her hair a mess, eyes wide and bloodshot.

“You better pray that I never run into you again after this is over, Motierre, because I will kill you, and laugh while doing so.”

Motierre leaned against a wall, still trying to get his labored breathing under control. “At this point, I can’t say I blame you.” Then he stood up straighter again. “Right. I think I have recovered now.”

“Great. Let's go.”

The streets of Chorrol were just as deserted as the chapel at this time of night, which was fine by Sylvana. Not only was she currently wearing her Dark Brotherhood armor, she was also filthy and probably looked close to a mental breakdown. The mere thought that Vicente would see her like this made her want to scream until her vocal cords bled.

She stopped in front of the inn and turned to Motierre, who seemed oddly relaxed for a man who almost died twice that day.

“Ah, fantastic! I’ll be able to book passage out of Cyrodiil here. Thank you for everything! I will not forget this!”

Neither would Sylvana; no matter how much she wanted to. She just turned, and walked off towards the Mage’s Guild. It would serve the snooty bastards right to have her trail zombie juice all over their precious carpets.

This time, she didn't care much for dignity. When the teleportation spell jerked her forward, she just let herself drop to the hard, wooden floor and listened to the echo of the impact fizzle out in the dark while she just stared into the void.

Her arrival hadn't woken any of the mages, thankfully. So nobody saw her struggle to her feet and stagger out of the building. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, it felt like someone had tied weights to her feet, and every step felt like a chore.

She needed to get back to the sanctuary, back to a world that actually made sense. There, she would be able to rest her aching limbs.

In her exhaustion, the short walk back to the abandoned house felt like it took forever. But finally, the stone door closed behind her, and she inhaled as much of the sanctuary’s scent as her lungs could hold. Iron. Incense. Home . Most of her siblings were asleep, but there was one who would be up at this time of night.

She wanted to immediately go to bed. It would have certainly been the obvious choice. But there was one thing she felt she needed more than sleep.

Vicente .

Her heavy feet carried him up to his door, and he opened it before she even had a chance to knock. His eyes widened in bewilderment when he saw the state she was in.

“Sylvana? What in the name of the Night Mother happened to you?”

She wanted to respond, but her eyelids were drooping, and her tongue felt like it was made of lead. “Z-... Zombies.”

He blinked in confusion, and then sighed. “I suppose you will tell me the whole story after a good night’s sleep.” With one fluid motion, he hooked her right arm over his shoulders, looking alarmed when she winced, and wrapped his arm around her waist to keep her steady. “Come now, dearest sister. Let’s get you to bed.”

She let her head loll against his shoulder and briefly closed her eyes. 

Their siblings barely shifted in their sleep when Vicente came into the community quarter and guided Sylvana over to her bed. He opened up the many belts and buckles keeping her armor together, and carefully peeled it off of her.

“You’ll need a new set after this; I don’t think the stench will wash out”, he muttered, more to himself than to her. Then he gently nudged her onto the mattress. Pulled off her boots, and lifted her legs into bed, with the practiced precision of a man who had taken care of many exhausted or sick loved ones in the past. Sylvana would have enjoyed his loving attention, but she was already half asleep; too dazed to even feel his touch.

Once he had tucked her in, he turned to leave, but her hand shot out from under the blankets and grabbed his.

“You’re not my mentor anymore”, she muttered, though half of it was so slurred that he could barely understand her.

”I’m not. But we can talk about that tomorrow.” He leaned over her, and gently kissed her forehead. “Sleep now. You’ve more than earned it.”

Chapter Text

When Sylvana rose from the depths of slumber, she kept her eyes closed at first, enjoying the way she was bundled up in soft sheets. And the warmth wasn’t just from the duvet; there was, in fact, a second body in her bed. Small, and fuzzy, and occasionally emitting soft, squeaky snores. Sylvana yawned, stretched, and then curled herself around Schemer, running her thumb across his head, ready to catch up on some more much needed sleep. 

She could have stayed like this forever, but there was something in the back of her mind, the image of a pale, smiling face, and the echo of a promise. Then, someone gently tapped her shoulder.

Telaendril stood at her bed, a lopsided grin on her face. “Welcome back to the land of the living, dearest sister. Vicente told us you were in quite a sorry state when you came home last night.”

Sylvana groaned and pulled the duvet over her head, flinching when the movement of her right shoulder sent a jolt of pain down her arm. “Don’t remind me. Please.”

Telaendril chuffed amusedly, arms crossed in front of her chest, her head tilted to the side. “That bad, hm? Well, you will have to talk about it; Vicente has asked if you are awake yet and he wants to know everything.” There was an unspoken implication in the Bosmer’s voice.

The mention of Vicente made Sylvana emerge from her hiding place again. Images from the previous night flooded her mind; her stumbling home like a drunk and collapsing into Vicente’s arms like a wilting flower.

Her hands shot up to cover her heated face in horror. “Oh Sithis, I can never look Vicente in the eyes again.”

Telaendril chuckled. “That's a bit dramatic, don't you think? So you were less than graceful after spending close to three days without proper rest. It's really not that big of an issue. Anyone does embarrassing things after going without sleep for that long. And after all…” She sat down on the bed and gave Sylvana a teasing look. “Home is the one place in the world where you should be able to misstep without fear of judgement.”

“But what if Vicente does judge me, and just doesn‘t say it?” Sylvana wished for the ground to open up and swallow her whole.

Telaendril patted her head like she was a child. “That's still the exhaustion talking, sister. Sleep some more; I'm sure he will understand that you still need it.”

“No”, Sylvana replied, despite her movement still being sluggish. “I kept him waiting long enough.” She threw on a simple black dressing gown and got out of bed.

The sanctuary was quiet, with only whispers from other rooms, the crackling of torches and the soft sounds of Sylvana’s bare feet meeting the stone floor keeping it from being completely silent. Or as Sylvana considered it now: peaceful.

She only realized that Vicente may take the fact that she was only wearing the dressing gown over her smallclothes the wrong way when she was already in front of his door. She briefly considered going back and putting on at least a simple dress or pants and a shirt, but Vicente had already noticed her presence and opened up.

“Good morning”, she said, trying her hardest to sound confident, despite being all too aware of her current state of undress. 

He smiled at her as if this was just a normal post-contract discussion, which she was grateful for. “Sylvana! Good morning. Come in; we have a lot to discuss.” He closed the door once she had entered his room, then approached her, putting his hands on her shoulders. “You did really well on both of your contracts. I'm proud of you.” His gaze softened, and so did his voice. “I just realized that this is the first time I'm telling you this, and the last time I'll have any right to.” He let go and cleared his throat. “Now tell me all about your contract in Chorrol. You mentioned zombies?”

Sylvana sat down at his table, carefully making sure to keep herself covered up, and gave him a quick summary of the previous two days, from Motierre’s severely lacking acting skills all the way to her rather messy escape from the haunted crypt. Now that it was all over, Sylvana couldn’t help but giggle at the whole situation- But maybe that was also just the lack of sleep messing with her head again.

Vicente listened patiently, chin resting on his folded hands. The corners of his mouth didn’t even twitch once, which surprised her. He of all people was the person she would have most expected to find the humor in the contract’s absurdity. But the farther she got in her story, the more his frown deepened. Once she was done, he sighed. “My apologies. If I had known how badly things would get out of control, I would have given this mission to someone more well rested.”

“Come to think of it, why didn’t you?”, Sylvana questioned.

He gave her an apologetic look. “Because I figured that your youth spent appeasing your fellow nobility regardless of your own feelings would have made you an excellent actress. In a way, your upbringing makes you uniquely qualified for this particular kind of contract.”

Sylvana scoffed. “One might think, but a puppet with a face drawn on could have fooled that ‘enforcer’. No actual acting skills required.”

“So you mentioned”, Vicente responded. “Well, either way, you have successfully helped Motierre escape. I took the liberty of putting your rewards for this contract and the previous one into the chest at the foot of your bed last night. Beyond that, you are due for another promotion! Congratulations, you now have the rank of Eliminator.”

Sylvana left her new promotion uncommented. Ranks in the Dark Brotherhood didn’t mean all that much, really. At least most of them didn’t. Silencer, Speaker and Listener… those were the only ranks that really meant something. The ranks below that were all treated pretty equally. 

There was, however, something about Vicente that day. A quiet restlessness that was unlike him. Almost like he was… nervous?

Vicente paused for a moment, his eyes resting on her. “There is, however, also a more… personal reward I would like to offer you.”

Her mouth dried out, leaving her unable to swallow the lump in her throat. A personal reward? What did he mean by that? Her face heated up when the first ideas for personal rewards that popped into her head ended perhaps a bit too personal. “A… personal reward?”

“Yes.” He let a brief silence settle over them, as if he was allowing the gravity of his next words to properly make itself known. “As you may imagine, as a vampire, I am capable of passing my dark gift on to others. I have offered this gift to siblings in the past, but most refused it. Now I am offering it to you.”

She opened her mouth, but realized that she did not know how to respond to that. She had daydreamed about it, fantasized about his fangs digging into her flesh, the mix of pain and ecstasy she imagined they’d bring. A lot of these fantasies were undoubtedly influenced by the questionable romantic literature she had read behind her mother’s and governess’ back as an adolescent. 

When she didn’t say anything, he just continued:”I realize that this is a huge decision for you to make. You don’t have to give me your answer right away. If you decide to accept, just let me know, and I’ll visit you while you sleep. You won’t even know I was-”

“Wait.” Even Sylvana herself was surprised by the firmness of her voice. She stood up, both hands firmly planted on the table. Her whole life long, others had defined her identity for her; but this? She wanted to be an active force in it. “Vicente, you are offering to change my life, my body, my very soul . That’s not something I want to just happen to me in my sleep.”

He blinked at her in surprise. A hint of frustration snuck its way into his expression. “Listen, playwrights may have spent centuries romanticising a vampire’s bite, but I assure you, it is not pleasurable. At least not for the one receiving the bite.”

“But it is for the vampire doing the biting?”, Sylvana asked further.

He swallowed heavily; she could see his Adam's apple bob under his pale skin. His eyes were downright glowing now, pinning her in place, though the rest of his face was so unmoving, it may as well have been a mask. “Do you know how vampirism came to be? How Molag Bal forced himself on a maiden and then left her to wreak havoc once the evil he planted in her took root? Yes , it is pleasurable for vampires to bite their victims, because vampirism was born from violation, and passing it on continues the cycle of it, no matter how willing the recipient is.” His voice was calm, professional, almost emotionless. 

“Are you trying to scare me off, now?” 

He shook his head. “I am just trying to get you to understand how much easier it would be to just let me bite you while you sleep. Vampirism is a fantastic gift; I would choose this path again anytime. But the transformation will be a test of both your mental and physical fortitude.”

“And I am telling you that I trust you”, she replied, impatience hardening her expression. “And I am asking you to trust me.” She took a deep, steadying breath. She didn’t want to lose her temper on him; not when he was just concerned about her. “Please, Vicente.”

He paused in his explanations, and just looked at her, the torchlight casting eerie, dancing shadows across his face. Swallowed again. “You will be terrified and in pain.”

“Yes, I understand that.” She reached out for his hands, intertwining her fingers with his; they were cold, but there was a gentleness about them that made her heart ache.

The tension left him with a quiet, breathless chuckle. “You will be the death of me, Sylvana.”

“Happily.” She stared at her hands, still holding onto his. For so long, she had waited, yearned, fantasized about him at night. Now that she could actually put her daydreams into action, she found herself hesitating. Not out of fear- at least not fear of him. Just the fear of disappointing him. Would he expect the touch of an experienced woman and turn up his nose at her clumsy attempts at intimacy? “There is one more thing we meant to discuss. Remember?”

“All too well.” He leaned slightly forward, his thumbs stroking the backs of her hands. “May I take this to mean that you are still interested in me?”

“I am”, she responded. “But… I wouldn’t know where to even start. I have never…” She looked away, hoping that the twilight of the room would disguise her burning cheeks.

Vicente raised his eyebrows. “Yes, I figured you hadn’t gone that far yet.”

She laughed, almost bitterly. “I haven't gone anywhere in that regard, Vicente. I've never been held, never been kissed, never been touched intimately. Do you remember adjusting my stance during training? Back then, I thought that kind of casual touch was utterly scandalous .” She laughed, softly, awkwardly, her thumbs ghosting across his hands as if she needed to memorize him by touch; as if that confession would cause him to retreat. Once the echo of her embarrassed laughter faded into silence, she looked at him. “And yet, despite not knowing what desiring someone normally feels like, I know that I desire you. So much that it almost scares me.”

“Then maybe we should start slow.” 

He rose from his seat, and pulled her up with him, close against his chest. His arms settled around her waist, holding her close but not constricting her. He leaned forward until their foreheads were touching. Their breaths mixed, warm and cold air meeting each other and dissipating into the chill of the sanctuary. Her skin erupted into goosebumps at the closeness, how she could feel his musculature shift under his clothes. She raised her hand, cupped his cheek and delighted in the flutter of her heart when he leaned into her palm. She guided his face lower, closer to hers, her eyes stuck to the curve of his lips until they melted into hers. He tasted of iron, of blood. Of the life that thrummed in her veins, and the death that waited beyond. Her hands wandered, from his cheek, to his shoulders, to the back of his neck, drawing him closer and devouring his lips like a starving woman. His grip around her tightened, straining against whatever metaphorical leash kept him from meeting her enthusiasm in kind. 

The door swung open. “Vicente,do you have any idea where the contract summaries -... oh.” Ocheeva stood in the doorway, open-mouthed, staring at the two of them with barely contained mortification. “Oh Sithis, I am sorry. I did not mean to interrupt the two of you. I was just looking for some documents about the latest contracts.”

Vicente sighed, and let Sylvana bury her burning face in the fabric of his shirt. “I was going to bring them to you later.”

“Of course, my apologies, brother. Sister.” The sanctuary’s mistress closed the door again, and in the awkward silence that followed, Sylvana suddenly found herself giggling. She tried to hold it back, but those giggles soon evolved into loud, mindless laughter. She was laughing so hard, tears were pouring from her eyes and drenching Vicente’s shirt.

Chapter Text

Once her laughter died down, Sylvana found herself still wrapped up in Vicente’s arms, her head tucked under his chin, enjoying the deep calm that spread through her mind and body whenever she inhaled his scent.
He seemed quite content just holding her like this, with one hand buried in her hair, idly brushing through it with his fingers.
She opened her eyes and stared into the torch-lit twilight of the room. “So, when will you… you know?”
“In a few days.” He parted from her slightly, just enough so she could look him in the eyes. “You should take some time to yourself, first. Go out into the sun. Eat all of your favourite childhood treats. Make some memories.” He shrugged. “Or just stay here, and relax. I'd be happy to tend to you to both of our hearts’ content while you regain your strength.”
He was teasing her again. It was a relief to know that despite everything, the change in roles, the argument, the kiss- this hadn’t changed. She chuckled and buried her face in the crook of his neck again. “Staying here sounds nice right now.”

As much as Sylvana would have liked to just stay in Vicente's arms forever, she had to let go eventually. If only because her stomach reminded her that she had skipped breakfast. But even as she was digging through the cabinets in search of some bread and cheese, a big part of her wanted to go back to him. Even Sylvana herself hadn’t known that she could be this… needy. But Sithis, the memory of his lips on hers, cold and yet so loving, made her knees weak.
Someone else entered the community quarter, but Sylvana was so lost in her daydreaming, she didn’t even notice them until they leaned against the kitchen counter next to her. She only looked up and found Teinaava standing there, arms crossed in front of his chest, tail nervously tapping on the stone floor.
“Oh, hello, brother. Is there anything I can do for you?”
He was silent for a long time, just staring at her. Sylvana was already bracing herself for a lecture about her infatuation with Vicente, and why romantic relationships between members of the Brotherhood were usually discouraged. That had to be it, right? Ocheeva had surely told him what happened.
“We have just received a new contract, sister.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Another one? I just fulfilled two contracts back to back. Can't someone else take this one?”
He rummaged around in a satchel at his hip and pulled out a folded piece of parchment. His voice was low, gentle, like someone who had to deliver devastating news to someone he cared about. “You misunderstand me; you aren't meant to fulfill it.” He swallowed briefly, and sought her gaze, restless, nervous. “It is a contract taken out on your head.” He handed the parchment over to her, and she opened it with shaking fingers. He looked at her closely, concern etched into his expression.
She read what was written there two, three, four times, but her mind refused to process it.
Someone had performed the Black Sacrament to have her killed.
“What does that mean for me?”, she asked, fighting to keep her composure. This couldn’t be. Wasn't it enough that she had been dishonored and robbed of her wealth, her status, and her old family? Did the world need to try and take this one as well?
“Nothing. We do not accept contracts against our own.” Sylvana breathed a sigh of relief at that. “I just figured you should know that someone out there wants you dead.” He put his hand on her shoulder. “Maybe you should stay in the sanctuary for now. Meanwhile, the rest of us will keep an ear to the ground whenever we’re out. I promise, we’ll find whoever did this and give them a taste of our family loyalty.”
“Right.” Sylvana ran her hands through her hair, just to disguise their tremor. “Thank you for telling me, Teinaava. And for caring.”
He chuckled. “Of course I care, Sylvana. You’re my sister.”

Teinaava’s revelation had thrown her entire plan for the day into chaos. She ate, but the food felt like ash in her mouth and sat in her stomach like a pile of rocks. She had actually planned to follow Vicente’s advice and go out, maybe visit the bakery that filled the abandoned house and even the sanctuary with the mouthwatering scent of freshly baked bread and pastries whenever the wind blew just right. Now the mere thought of leaving the protection of her home made her stomach cramp up with fear. It felt horribly unjust; just a few hours ago, she had been happy and comfortable, still kiss-drunk and enjoying the last traces of Vicente’s touch on her skin. Now she felt like a cornered animal, even in the safety of the sanctuary.

Sylvana tried to distract herself with anything she could. She decided to get ahead on chores; it was her turn to scrub the floors this week. So she got water, soap and a brush, and got to work. At least she knew how to do it now; her past life as a noble hadn’t exactly left her with good housekeeping skills, so her first attempts at housework had been pretty disastrous. But now she not only had the skills required to do some decent cleaning, but also one of the best motivators. She went after every stain and bootprint, as if they had personally insulted her. At least that helped her get rid of that nervous energy.
“You look good, on your knees like that. Perhaps that’s your actual calling in life”, said Mraaj-Dar, who had just returned from a contract, sat at a nearby table and watched her silently long before making himself known.
Sylvana looked up and glared at the Khajiit. She had thus far mostly avoided him; he had, after all, made it perfectly clear that he wasn’t interested in being friendly with her. “I’d be careful if I were you. I have a bucket of water and a brush, and I am not afraid of using either.”
He gave her a sly, toothy grin. “Try it, I dare you.”
She ground her teeth, then scoffed and turned back to her work.
A few more minutes passed, during which Sylvana continued working dirt and the occasional bloodstain out of the stone floors, until Mraaj-Dar spoke again:”There is someone in the Imperial City who spreads some nasty rumors about you. Tells anyone who will listen that you are a harlot who drove her poor brother to madness by seducing him and then publicly humiliating him when he proposed to you.”
Sylvana paused, letting his words sink in. Was this the truth, or just him making stuff up to mock her? But it would be one hell of a coincidence. Gaspard, the man who had ruined her life, her first murder, did have a sister who had always hated Sylvana. “And you of course agree with her.”
Mraaj-Dar scoffed. “No. I usually don’t care much for gossip, but Teinaava and Ocheeva shared an interesting bit of it with us this morning. If you are looking for the person who wants you dead, perhaps the person spreading those rumors would be a good place to start.” He looked at her with a bored expression, chin resting on his hand, like the whole matter didn’t concern him. But the way his tail flicked from side to side told a different story.
Was he… trying to help her? She got to her feet and dusted off her knees. “Thank you for the advice.”
He bared his teeth at her. “Oh I'm not doing this to help you. I'd just rather not have you sit around here moping all day.”
“Of course”, she replied blankly, too exhausted to be annoyed.

Once the floors were all scrubbed to perfection, Sylvana once again found herself without a distraction to keep her mind from spiraling. So she found herself walking back to Vicente’s room. She wasn’t running; not from Mraaj-Dar, or from the rumors, or the parchment still tucked into her waistband like a brand, though she could still feel its edges digging into her hip with every step.. She just needed to see him, to let him wipe away those restless thoughts until only the memory of his touch remained.
He seemed to have already expected her; his door was open a crack, so she could slip inside. Before she could even say anything, his arms were around her.
“So Ocheeva already told you?”, she muttered into the fabric of his shirt.
“She did.” His voice was low, gentle… comforting. “How are you feeling?”
She laughed, short and brittle. “Terrified.”
The embrace tightened, as if to keep her tethered in the here and now. “We’ll find them, and make them pay for their insolence.”
She took a deep, shaky breath. “I know.” Then she looked up at him. “But right now, I just need a distraction. I-... I need you.”
Yes, she needed him. Right now, Vicente was her anchor, her one bastion of safety in a world where she had gone from hunter to prey.
He frowned, wiping some stray hair out of her face. “Are you sure you don't want to wait until you're calmer?”
“Yes”, she responded and kissed him, breath heavy with desire. When they parted, she whispered, voice hoarse:”You promised to tend to me, did you not?”
He chuckled. “I did, didn’t I?”
His lips were on hers again, cool and soft. Her hands found the laces keeping his shirt together. His fingers caught hers, intertwining with them.
“Slowly”, he breathed into her ear. “I want to feel every bit of you, and savor it.”
Her breath hitched in her throat, just long enough for him to kiss her again, to guide her hands until the laces were undone, and she could slip her fingers under the fabric… and stopped.
She had never realized how skinny Vicente was. Where her dreams had placed smooth muscle, toned to perfection, she found skin clinging to bone, and a stomach not just flat, but slightly sunken in. She looked up at him, eyes wide, but he just smiled at her gently, like he had predicted that reaction. “It’s normal. I don’t feed often; I don’t need to, and I have lived this way for a very long time.”
She wanted to protest, but he kissed her again, and when her hands sought support against his chest, she didn’t think about how thin he was anymore… just that she was touching him, and how his skin felt like velvet against hers. She slid her hands over his chest, feeling each dip between ribs. His body was no ideal, no fantasy, no perfect daydream. It was *his* and that made her love it more than she could ever love her imagination.
She slipped the shirt from his shoulders, and he briefly let go to let it fall to the floor. She parted from his lips, and trailed over his jaw, down his neck, where his pulse should have been, and finally pressed her lips against his collarbone, slowly and reverently, like whispering a prayer into his skin.
The back of her legs hit the cold stone of the slab Vicente usually slept on… strange, when had they moved there? She didn’t think much of it, and just sat, pulling Vicente down to lean over her. While they were briefly catching their breaths, she looked up at him through long lashes. “I will need your guidance.”
“I know”, he muttered. “Lift your arms.”
He pulled her tunic over her head and tossed it in a corner. She should have been self-conscious. Embarrassed, even. But all she could feel was the intensity of his gaze slowly heating her from within.
He let out a breathy laugh, not even bothering to hide his fangs anymore. “You’re beautiful.”
“And I’m all yours”, she responded, pulling him closer again, to feel, to taste. His hands were at her hips, unlacing her skirt and tugging it down. She guided her hands to do the same with his breeches, so eager to see and feel all of him. The last barriers between them fluttered to the ground.
She felt him, somehow hot and cold at the same time, and so close to the very spot she had been taught to guard at all costs. Vicente looked down at her, eyes glazed over with desire, then down to where their bodies almost met. Her legs curled around his hips, almost on instinct. She arched into his touch, pulled him in… but the pain she had been taught to expect did not happen. Their union brought a slight pressure, and tightly coiled heat in her belly, slowly spreading until every nerve in her body resonated with it.
Her breath caught in her throat, reveling in how close he was, how wholly he surrounded her. Nothing mattered except that fact; there was no world outside, no contract on her life, no malicious whispers throughout the Imperial City. All that mattered was that she was here, in Vicente’s arms. More alive than she had ever been before, the gentle ebb and flow of their movement a heartbeat of its own.
She came undone, quietly, breathlessly. She buried her hands in his hair and pulled him down to kiss him, to take the plunge together. Stars danced in front of her closed eyes, and she let herself fall. Spent, but safe and happy.

Sylvana kept her eyes closed for a while, listening to her own and Vicente’s breathing in reverent silence. When she opened them again, she saw Vicente’s smiling face, and his arm extended in invitation.
“Come here. To me.”
She rolled to her side, resting her head on his shoulder, and idly tracing the edges of scars on his chest. He tilted his head so his cheek rested against the crown of her head.
“Well, this wasn’t quite how I had planned it”, he told her, still sounding slightly breathless.
“You… planned our first time having sex?”
His mouth curved into a roguish smirk. “Down to the most minute detail. I was going to lead you right here through an ocean of black rose petals, lay you upon my altar and tend to you as one would tend to a holy icon. It would have been a downright religious experience.”
There was a brief, awkward silence. “You didn’t really, did you?”
He gave her his best attempt at an innocent face. “We’ll never know now, will we?”
She burst out laughing and playfully swatted his shoulder. “You absolute arse!”
He chuckled along with her, before calming down again. “Are you feeling better now?”
“Much better”, she responded, comfortably settling against his shoulder again. Their hands found each other, fingers intertwining.
“Good.” His voice was tender again, and so was his gaze. The way he looked at her in that moment actually did make her feel like a holy icon, and that thought drove heat into her cheeks.
She sighed, exasperated but loving. “You always know just what to say, don’t you?”
“That is one of my many talents, yes”, he said, every word laced with smug self-satisfaction. She could only laugh.
“Arse.”
“You already said that.”

Chapter Text

Sylvana hadn’t realized that she had dozed off, until her eyes opened and she found that her position had shifted during the night; she was now on her back, and Vicente’s head rested on her chest, his even breathing filling the quiet of the room and brushing against her sensitive skin.
She reached out, wiped a stray hair out of his face, and smiled at how the soft strands tickled her fingertips. It was odd, to see him so vulnerable, but the sight made her heart swell with overflowing affection.
She looked around. Somehow, she had expected the world to look or feel different after her first time; after all, everyone had always treated it as this massive thing that would change her forever. But no, the cool air, with its metallic, smokey scent, the rock beneath her, Vicente’s skin against hers- it all felt the same as it had the night before, except for a slight soreness in her lower body. All was safe, peaceful, right.
Slowly, the existence of the world beyond this small chamber snuck its way back into her thoughts. Her eyes darkened. Someone out there wanted to take all of this from her, wanted to drag her back into the dark.
Well, that person would learn the hard way that the shadows were her home now.
Vicente shifted briefly, opened his eyes and yawned. “Good morning, my dearest. I hope you slept well.”
“I did. And you?”
“With a lovely pillow like you? How could I not.” He peppered lazy kisses on the hollow of her throat. “I'd love to do it all over again, right now.”
She would have loved that, too. Would have loved to unite with him, again and again, to know nothing but his touch until the world itself forgot about her. But that wasn’t how the world worked. No matter for how long she fled from it, the second she parted from Vicente, it would be there, with all its sharp edges hidden behind spiteful whispers. “I'd prefer to deal with my contract, first.”
He continued his loving attentions. “It will still take a day or two until the others return with any news. No harm in enjoying ourselves until then.”
The corners of her mouth twitched. Looked like she wasn't the only glutton for affection in the sanctuary. “That's true. But I don’t intend of spending those days sitting around and just waiting for things to happen.”
He stopped, sensing that Sylvana wasn’t just playfully refusing. “Do you have a plan?”
“After breakfast, I'll disguise myself and take a walk around town. Maybe the owner of the inn picked up some gossip that can lead me to our ‘client’.”
He smiled, just lightly. “There’s my Sylvana again.”

After a quick breakfast, Sylvana put on her simplest set of clothes, did her makeup and pulled up her hood before leaving the sanctuary.
It was a lovely Sun’s Dusk morning; autumn’s chill had deepened by now, announcing the impending arrival of winter, but the sun still shone bright, making the carpet of foliage on the ground glow in all shades of red and yellow. Cheydinhal was always picturesque, but right now, the view of the town was downright spectacular.
The small pond and the stream feeding it were softly gurgling, frogs were croaking, and people were walking, some hand in hand, some alone. Just living normal, happy lives.
Cheydinhal wore its pretty mask well; all shining purple roofs and colorful leaves, and secrets buried just underneath.
Sylvana's first destination was the Cheydinhal Bridge Inn; surely the innkeeper would know about all the latest gossip. Innkeepers always did.
But she walked slowly, enjoying the sun on her skin and the rustle of leaves under her feet. It reminded her of the autumns of her childhood; her governess would take her out into the garden and play with her until sunset, building tents out of sticks, gathering acorns and chestnuts and catching insects. Her mother had been horrified, but the wide smile on little Sylvana’s face and the enthusiasm with which she recounted the day’s adventures had swayed Lady Virelius to continue allowing her daughter to have these precious days of carefree childhood.

The inn was clean, warm and tastefully decorated, with plush carpets on polished stone floors, elaborately painted vases with fresh flowers, a stone hearth with a merrily crackling fire and red and gold tapestries along the walls. Sylvana sat at the bar, where the inn’s proprietor, an Imperial woman who didn’t let the first fine wrinkles creasing the skin around her eyes stop her from looking prim and proper.
“Welcome to the Cheydinhal Bridge Inn! I am Mariana Ancharia, hostess of this humble establishment. Is there anything I can do for you?”
“I’d like some wine, please”, Sylvana responded casually, like this was just a normal day for her. While Mariana poured the wine, she continued:”Have you heard anything interesting lately? Surely your..." She paused, digging through her mind for the right vocabulary. "... distinguished clientele also brings a lot of interesting gossip.”
The innkeeper paused briefly, before placing the goblet in front of her. “Certainly, but as you can imagine, my patrons value discretion.”
“I am not asking for anything too scandalous. I just haven’t left town in a good while, and am curious about current events. Cheydinhal is beautiful, but it sometimes feels like it’s worlds away from the rest of Cyrodiil.” That seemed like a good enough explanation, she felt.
Mariana leaned forward. “I cannot say I have. All everyone is talking about is that tragedy that happened in Kvatch. Surely you heard of that?”
Sylvana took a sip of her wine, and it took a lot of self-control to not grimace. She had never cared much for alcohol, especially wine; it just tasted sour and spicy to her, burned her throat and made her head feel like it was stuffed with wool after a sip or two. “I cannot say I have, I’m sorry. I do tend to be quite reclusive.”
Mariana’s eyes widened. “Oh! It’s a terrible story. They say that a gate to Oblivion opened right in front of the Kvatch’s gates. The Daedra swarmed the city and burned it to the ground until only cinders remained.”
“A gate to Oblivion? Here in Cyrodiil?” Sylvana suddenly found herself shivering. “What happened then? Surely the Daedra didn’t just leave after destroying one city?”
The innkeeper lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “They say someone suddenly appeared, out of nowhere, closed the gate and slaughtered all of the creatures that had come through it. A true hero, but nobody seems to know anything about her; only that she is a Dunmer.” She stood up straight again. “It’s quite the story, isn’t it? Many people are worried that there will be more gates, and more Daedra. Let’s hope that they’ll take this defeat as a sign not to cause any more trouble.”
“Agreed”, Sylvana muttered. Oblivion Gates in Cyrodiil. What a terrifying time to be alive. Figuring that she wouldn’t get anything useful out of Mariana, she drained her goblet, paid and left.

Right across the street from the Cheydinhal Bridge Inn was a tavern most frequently visited by Dunmer. Sylvana only visited it briefly, but found that the owner, Dervera Romalen, was just as unhelpful as Mariana had been. So was the owner of the general store, and the baker.

By the time Sylvana made her way back to the sanctuary, her jaw was aching from grinding her teeth so hard. What a waste of time!
Vicente seemed unsurprised when she returned to him with furrowed brows and clenched fists. He just looked up from his book and tilted his head in a silent question.
“Nobody knew anything”, Sylvana announced in a deadpan tone, before dropping herself onto his bed like a sack of frustrated potatoes.
“It was worth a try”, he told her.
She buried her face in her hands. “You know, this is the first time in my life that the gossip mill has failed me. And just when I needed it most.”
Vicente rose from his spot at the table and joined her on the bed, gently placing his hand on her back, rubbing small circles between her shoulderblades. “Is there any way I can help you?”
“No.” She fell quiet for a moment, just leaning into his touch and staring at the floor through the gaps in her fingers. It would take days for all of their siblings to come back with news. There had to be something productive she could do during that time. She perked up again. Maybe there was. “Actually, yes, you can.” She turned to him, her eyes meeting his with calm determination. “I need you to bite me.”
His eyes widened briefly. “Now? Are you sure?”
“Absolutely. That way, I can spend the next few days adjusting.” She leaned closer to him. “No time like the present, as they say.”
Vicente smiled, though it did look slightly strained, pulling her close. “As you wish.” His lips danced across her neck, right where her pulse was fluttering like an excited bird. He paused. “It's not too late to let me do it in your sleep.”
She huffed, half amusement, half frustration. “Quit stalling.”
Teeth dug into her flesh, like rusted icepicks slicing through skin and muscle. The sting was followed by burning, like the bite poured acid into her veins, and suction when Vicente drank. It lasted only a few seconds, but it felt like eras passed until Vicente carefully withdrew his fangs from her and quickly pressed a clean hankerchief onto the still bleeding wound.
Sylvana let herself drop into his arms, breathing heavily. Her whole body was drenched in rapidly cooling sweat, and her eyelids were drooping. The burning slowly faded into cold numbness.
Vicente looked at her, pupils widened until they almost drowned out the pale yellow of his eyes, a small drop of blood, her blood, still trickling from the corner of his mouth. He rested his forehead against hers, weaving his fingers through sweat-damp hair. “It is done.”
Her response died on her tongue. She just closed her eyes, and slumped forward, slipping into the velvet dark, unsure if it was sleep or unconsciousness.

Chapter Text

Sylvana woke up, and immediately wished she hadn’t. Every movement was rewarded with dull aching, from throbbing in her head to her stiff ankles. When she sat up, her stomach lurched. Someone, most likely Vicente, shoved a wooden bucket into her hands, just in time for her to celebrate a “happy” reunion with her breakfast.
Once there was nothing left but bile and the retching finally stopped, she put the bucket next to the bed and collapsed back onto the pillow. Was this what vampirism was like?
Vicente carefully placed a wet piece of fabric against her forehead, wiping away the sweat.
“A warning would have been nice”, Sylvana muttered through her sore throat.
“I don't remember it having been this bad for me”, he confessed. “Don’t worry, though; it'll only last three days, and I will be with you the entire time.”
That, at least, was a comfort.

The next three days slipped by in a blur. Sylvana was sleeping more than she was awake, stumbling from feverish dreams into the torturous reality of a body that had turned against itself, and back. Vicente only left her side when he absolutely had to, encouraging her to drink broth, wiping away the sweat, telling her stories of all the things he had seen and done in his long life in a low, gentle voice whenever she was awake enough to hear him.
Eventually came the cravings; she asked for red meat, barely cooked enough to be safe to eat, but no kind of solid food stayed in her stomach for long.
Then came the nightmares. Those were strangely enough the most bearable part of the transformation; all images of death and decay, horrifying, but strangely impersonal. In a perverse way, they were a welcome reprieve from Sylvana’s usual nightmares, where all those she killed condemned her for her sins.

On the morning of the fourth day, Sylvana awoke alone in Vicente’s room, and immediately noticed the change. The pain had faded, as had the agonized fog over her mind. For the first time in days, she could think clearly. And that wasn’t all. She could smell Vicente, even though he wasn’t in the room with her; the scent of parchment and blood followed him like a fresh trail; he couldn’t have gone far.
There was shuffling and whispers in front of the door, but Sylvana heard every word clear as day.
“We found out who took out the contract on Sylvie”, whispered Antoinetta-Marie.
“Unsurprisingly, it’s the same person who spread these disgusting rumors about her”, added Telaendril. “Please, brother, we must tell her immediately. She’ll want to know.”
“I took the liberty of contacting the client”, said Teinaava, a low, self-satisfied hiss in his voice. “She will expect a discussion about the contract, and instead be sent straight to Sithis.”
“Brother, Sisters, please”, Vicente told them firmly. “Sylvana is in no state to travel or kill. All of this can wait until she has recovered.”
Sylvana got to her feet. They trembled, having gotten weak after three days of not carrying her weight, but held steady. She walked to the door, and opened it. “It has been three days, Vicente. I’m fine.”
He turned to her, mouth open in surprise. “Sylvana! You’re awake!”
“And you-…” Antoinetta-Marie stopped and gave her a careful once-over, before a teasing grin spread across her face. “...you’re a vampire now? And you’re wearing Vicente’s clothes?” The gleam in her eyes said it all; she would want all of the dirty details later.
Sylvana looked down on herself. Sure enough, she wore one of Vicente’s shirts, and nothing else. She cleared her throat, hoping nobody would notice her burning cheeks. “Please give me a moment to get dressed first. You can tell me what you found out afterwards.”

Colette Lothair. That was the name of Sylvana's newest target. Gaspard's older sister.
The woman had always been rather unkind to Sylvana, even when Gaspard had still pretended to be Sylvana’s fun uncle, so she wasn't surprised to learn that Colette was the one who had tried to get her assassinated. Her parents and Gaspard had always brushed off her nasty attitude as a harmless quirk. Told Sylvana not to take the harsh words of a cranky old woman to heart.
But now the old bag would learn that Sylvana's new family was nowhere near as lenient as the old one, and neither was Sylvana herself.

When Sylvana approached her bed in the community quarter, she noticed a small vial of poison resting on her pillow, with a scrap of parchment tied around it. The words “Use this to make it extra fun” were scribbled onto the parchment in hurried, jagged letters. Sylvana stared at the vial, noting how the clear liquid within looked a lot like plain water. But by now, Sylvana knew that not all poisons were easy to spot; in fact, the best ones usually looked deceptively harmless.
She slipped it into her pocket.

Vicente stood near the door when Sylvana approached it to leave, now wearing a black waistcoat over his usual dark-grey shirt, and sturdy boots. Sylvana stopped, looking him up and down with a small, appreciative smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. That waistcoat really suited him.
“Ready to go?” He tilted his head.
She stopped ogling him and focused on his face again, mouth agape. “Wait, are you coming with me?”
He shrugged. “I'm offering to, at least. I know that this matter is personal to you. But by now, everything personal to you is personal to me as well. Besides.” He crossed his hands behind his back, and slightly leaned forward, almost schoolboy-like mischief gleaming in his eyes. “I am dying to see how vampirism changed the way you kill.”
She burst out laughing. “Oh you… how could I say no to that?”

“Ugh, I completely forgot how crowded the Imperial City is”, Vicente grumbled after someone accidentally bumped into him for the third time since they had arrived.
The Talos Plaza district was as lively as Sylvana remembered it, filled with servants scurrying about on errants, heads lowered like meeting the wrong person's gaze would kill them, and the city's nobility, noses turned up sky-high, dressed in garishly colorful velvet and silk. Had clashing colors recently come into fashion, or had Sylvana just never noticed it before? Who's idea had it been to make wearing deep burgundy with thyme green a trend? The Dark Brotherhood's style may have been a bit drab and monotone with its black, red and earthy tones, but at least it was cohesive. It was elegant in its simplicity.
She shook her head and turned away. Now was not the time to criticise her former peers’ fashion choices, though they deserved to die for the insult to her eyes alone. There was one of them who deserved death for a far less petty reason.

The Lothair estate was at the western end of the district, tucked away in a corner. It was small compared to the surrounding mansions, but tried to make up its lack of size by cramming decorative carvings in every corner; the home of a guppy who ended up in the ocean and tried to convince sharks that it belonged.
Vicente eyed the clean, smooth walls And the meticulously polished windows with an unimpressed frown, while Sylvana grabbed the gaudy, golden door knocker and slammed it against the mahogany door in three short, sharp raps.
While waiting for a response, she took a moment to reminisce a bit. As a child, young and innocent, she had once brought Colette flowers from the garden. She was Uncle Gaspard's sister, so she had to be nice, right? Except that Colette had thrown the flowers back in her face and told her to take her weeds somewhere else.
The door creaked open, and half of a wrinkled face peeked through the gap, sharp eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Are you from the Brotherhood?”
“Yes. Sithis sends his regards”, Sylvana replied, hoping that the old hag wouldn’t immediately recognize her voice and make a scene.
The door opened fully, revealing Colette Lothair in all her hatefully shrivelled glory; the carefully coiffed grey hair and velvet gown conveyed the image of a noble, refined lady. The rest of her… not so much.
“Come inside”, she rasped.

The building's interior showed that the Lothairs' wealth was only skin-deep. The furniture was made from fine materials, and had undoubtedly been expensive… a long, long time ago. Now all that was left was mahogany flooring worn down by generations worth of feet, threadbare velvet upholstery that may have once been red, but was more of a dusty brown now, and a distinct lack of servants.
Sylvana and Vicente had barely entered the sitting room when Colette turned to them, face contorted into a furious grimace. “Don’t tell me you actually have trouble finding that little witch! I was told you were professionals!”
“Oh, we are”, Sylvana responded, voice barely above a whisper. “But there are some… complications.” She lifted her hood and let it slip back. “Hello, Colette.”
Colette’s eyes sharpened. “I should have known. You never make it easy, do you? No, of course not. The spoiled little princess can’t just die as she should.”
“You're pretty mouthy for someone about to die”, Vicente quipped, leaning against the doorframe, effectively blocking the only exit to the room.
Colette briefly looked to Vicente, then to Sylvana again. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Wouldn’t I?” Sylvana twirled Sufferthorn in her hand, the glow of its enchantment shimmering through the wet coat of poison around its blade. Something in her rumbled, like a beast spotting prey, and it resonated to the dagger that by now felt like an extension of her arm. “We’ll see about that.”
Colette took a step towards her, index finger extended as if to jab her in the chest, as she had done in the past. “You are even more shameless than I thought. First you seduced my poor brother for your own entertainment, and now you are whoring yourself out to the Dark Brotherhood just to spite me. Does that make you feel good? To threaten an old woman who only wants justice for her family?”
Sylvana stopped toying with Sufferthorn. “Seduced him?” The question came with a chuckle laced through each syllable. She stepped closer to Colette, grabbing her accusingly pointing finger and wrenched it downward until something popped. Colette howled like a wounded dog and quickly retreated, staring at her dislocated finger in dawning horror.
Sylvana continued on her way, each step a muted echo in the empty house. She smiled, the easy smile of someone discussing the weather with an acquaintance. “Tell me, when did I seduce him? When I was two, and he carried me on his shoulders so I wouldn’t get lost during the Harvest Fair?” Another step brought Sylvana so close that Colette had to press herself flat against the wall to escape her, her finger still cradled against her chest. “Or maybe when I was five and hugged him because he gifted me that wooden rocking horse?” She lifted Sufferthorn and let its edge rest against Colette’s throat, just a tiny movement away from cutting. “...or when I was thirteen and told him about the stableboy I liked?” She leaned forward, until the tips of their noses almost touched, staring at Colette with an eerily blank expression. “I was a child. I trusted him, while all he could think about was how he would one day own me. The death he got was too good for him; I should have made him suffer for using me like that.” The blade moved, causing a small, shallow cut. “I intend to correct that mistake. When you meet Gaspard in the Void, tell him what he missed out on by dying so quickly.”
Colette reached for her throat, and sneered at Sylvana when she only felt a scratch. “I knew you wouldn’t have the spine to actually-” Before she could even finish her sentence, her eyes began bulging out of their sockets. She tried to take a step forwards, but her legs, her arms, her entire body began contorting and spasming. She fell to the ground, trying to scream, to make any sound at all. But her tongue only lolled out of her mouth, covering the dusty carpet with thin threads of saliva.
Sylvana stepped back to let the poison do its work, and bumped straight into Vicente. His presence snapped her out of her vengeful fury and back to reality.
“I see Mraaj-Dar gave you some of his favourite poison.” He embraced her from behind. “We can leave now.”
She turned in his arms and kissed him with a fervor that startled both of them. It would be the last thing Colette saw before being dragged to the Void: Sylvana, in Vicente’s arms. Happy. Loved. Thriving.

The first thing Sylvana saw when she returned to the sanctuary was a glimpse of grey scurrying across the main hall. Seeing that glimpse of the sanctuary's very own pet rat made her decide that dignity was overrated. She immediately dropped to her knees and spread out her arms. “Schemer! Baby! C'mere!”
Schemer launched himself out from under a chair, right into her waiting arms, excitedly sniffing her before licking her face.
“Oh, did you miss me? I missed you too!” Sylvana rubbed his belly. “Who is the cutest rat in the whole wide world? It's you! Yes! You!”
The rest of the siblings, at least those present, watched the scene with mild to severe alarm.
“Is she okay?”, Teinaava asked carefully.
Vicente raised his hands in a comforting gesture. “She's had a long day and is still a bit wound up. That's all.”
A long day, indeed.

Chapter Text

Sylvana had expected herself to have some kind of emotional reaction to Colette’s death. Not only should the whole matter have been deeply personal, Colette was also the first victim of hers that had died slowly, painfully. And Sylvana had enjoyed it. But there was no tightness in Sylvana’s chest, no restless buzz in her mind. Nothing. Just… satisfaction. Calm. The mental equivalent of her parents patting her on the head and saying “Good work.”
Was this Sithis being satisfied with her development? Was this what it felt like to have a God be proud of her? To have a God love her as priests always described it?
There was a certain irony in Sithis, the Void, the Dread Father, being the source of this feeling for Sylvana. But she embraced it; it finally made her understand what may drive some people to religious zealotry. It was downright intoxicating.

And it wasn’t just Sithis being pleased that quickly distracted her from her distinct lack of emotional reaction. It was Vicente, patiently waiting at the door to his room until she had greeted Schemer to her heart’s content, and finally approaching her. It was his voice, low and raw. His pupils were dilated, his breathing heavy. A slight flush was creeping across his face; not embarrassment, but excitement.
“Would you care to spend the night with me again?”
The request was scandalously brazen, but wasn’t that just the kind of relationship she had with him? Honest, raw and real?
“So I take it that you enjoyed watching me kill?”, she responded, a teasing lilt in her voice.
He laughed, hoarse and strained. “More than enjoyed. You looked like an angel of death, sent by Sithis himself. You carried the Void within you, and it was exquisite.”
“Sweet talker.” She kissed him, traced the line of his collar across his neck. “Of course I’ll spend the night with you. I wouldn’t dream of leaving you wanting. Or myself.”

Sylvana rose from slumber, sore in the most delightful way. Her hand wandered to her shoulder, tracing a thin trail of dried blood to the edges of a bite, where teeth had dug into her skin. It was one of many such marks left on her body during the previous night; now that she was a vampire herself, she hadn’t felt the searing pain of the virus being pumped into her veins anymore. Her blood was the virus, and Vicente’s bite was pain edged with pleasure.
The memory of the past night was blurry, but she remembered fragments of it, just clearly enough to feel them echoing throughout her body. She was pretty sure that at this point, it would have been easier to count the surfaces in his room they hadn’t loved each other on.
Vicente shifted in his sleep next to her, one arm draped over her stomach, looking so strangely… soft, in a way that made her heart ache. There were bite wounds on him as well; he hadn’t been feasting on her like a predator. They had been what they were: Two vampires, indulging in a more literal definition of bloodlust.
The taste of him was still on her tongue; coppery, slightly salty, and something she couldn’t quite explain, but just knew that it was deeply and deliciously Vicente.
The second time had been even better than their first; now that the stress of an unknown enemy no longer bore down on her, Sylvana had been able to truly enjoy Vicente for the first time. To love him, just for the sake of loving him.
He stirred; stretching like a cat after a nap, mouth wide open in a hearty yawn that made his fangs jut out like daggers, before lazily whispering a soft “Good morning, love” into the twilight around them.
She leaned over and kissed him, still tasting herself on his lips. “Good morning.”
For a quiet moment, she just watched him, the way he rested his head back on the pillow, a blissful, relaxed smile on his face. The very embodiment of a man at peace with himself and everything around him.
“Vicente? Can I ask you something?”
He let out a low, vaguely affirmative rumble.
“How did you become a vampire?”
His eyes opened, relaxation being replaced by sudden tension. “Oh, that… it's a long story, and perhaps not the most pleasant topic for pillow talk.”
“You don't have to tell me.” The tips of her fingers grazed his cheek. “Sorry for bringing it up.”
“Please, don't apologize. It's only natural for you to be curious. It's just… a conversation that may need a bit of mental preparation on my part.” He took a deep, steadying breath. “It happened three centuries ago, while I was on an expedition to Vvardenfell. I hunted alone for a century afterwards, until the Brotherhood found me. That is all I can say… for now.”
“I understand”, she responded softly.
He smiled, but it felt slightly forced. “Don't look so sad now. That was all a very long time ago. And as you can see…” He leaned his forehead against hers. “...I am in a much better place now. A lot of people would envy me for the life I have built.”
Sylvana was just about to say something incredibly cheesy, like “And thank Sithis and the Night Mother for letting me be a part of it” when a deep, gurgling rumble from her stomach brought all thoughts of romance to a screeching halt.
“Someone's hungry”, Vicente quipped and nudged his face against hers. “There should be a bottle of preserved blood in the kitchen cabinet; enough for both of us. Go on; I'll join you and the others for breakfast in a moment.”

Everyone was already gathered around the table when Sylvana entered the community quarter. Her cheerful “Good morning, everyone!” was met with silence thick enough to cut. However, she only truly noticed just how tense the silence was once her currently way too food-motivated mind was appeased by finding the bottle of blood in the cabinet. She turned to her siblings while taking a swig, and noticed that everyone was carefully avoiding eye-contact with her. Gogron was picking a piece of dried meat apart on his plate, Telaendril was polishing her bow, and Ocheeva was stirring her tea with a carefully neutral expression on her face.
Sylvana was about to ask what was going on, when Antoinetta-Marie blurted out:”You and Vicente were so loud last night!” Then she burst out laughing.
Sylvana choked on the blood. Oh Sithis. Her face got so hot she expected steam to come out of her ears. “I'm… I'm so sorry.”
“You should be”, Mraaj-Dar grumbled. “Pretty sure all of Cheydinhal heard.”
Ocheeva cleared her throat diplomatically. “We are all very happy for you, dear sister. For both of you. But please keep in mind that you're not alone here, and be mindful of the rest of us.”
“Of course, Ocheeva.” Sylvana shuffled her feet like a scolded child.
“And of course it's normal that family knows each other closely. But some things are just yours and Vicente’s to know, and nobody else's”, the sanctuary's mistress continued.
“Indeed”, Teinaava added. “It's already enough that Gogron tends to describe his encounters with Telaendril to anyone who will listen.”
Telaendril stopped polishing her bow and slowly turned to face Gogron. Gogron responded with an embarrassed grin.
Ocheeva took a sip of her tea before speaking again:”Anyway, there is a new contract for you, Sylvana. Are you ready to take it?”
Finally. A tiny bit of normalcy, or at least what would count as such in the Dark Brotherhood. A target that wouldn’t have her question her entire life. “Ready as I'll ever be.”
Ocheeva smiled appreciatively. “I knew you'd say that. This one will require some investigation, because we were thus far unable to locate your target without drawing too much attention.” She leaned back, giving Sylvana a mischievous look. “That should be no problem, right? Your target is a High Elf named Faelian. He should be somewhere in the Imperial City. Ask around; I'm sure that somebody there must know something.”
Sylvana’s heart sank. She knew Faelian. Not personally. He had been her peer, once. One of the many nobles she used to rub elbows with on a regular basis.
Until he had tried Skooma at a party of the less savory members of Cyrodiil's elite. Now, he was a cautionary tale.

Ocheeva, noticing the way her face fell, tilted her head. “What's the matter, dear sister?”
Sylvana bit her lower lip. “It's nothing, just… I knew this man. A long time ago.”
“Is that going to be a problem?”
Sylvana paused, considering the question. That party had happened years ago, and Faelian had been on a steady downward spiral ever since, with no sign of improvement. He'd lied, stolen and cheated to feed his habit; it was no wonder that people wanted him dead. Maybe this kind of mercy that only Sithis could grant would be just what he needed. So Sylvana shook her head. “No. If anything, me knowing his face will make it easier to find him.” She smiled. “Don't worry, Ocheeva. You know I would never fail the Night Mother for the sake of silly sentimentality.”
Ocheeva lit up. “And the Night Mother smiles upon her faithful daughter for it. I will leave you to your preparations then. And of course, don't forget to give Vicente a proper farewell before you leave. A quiet one, if you can manage it.”
Mraaj-Dar groaned. “Please, Ocheeva, don't encourage her!”
The whole group burst out laughing.

The Talos Plaza district was lively as always, populated by garishly dressed nobles and only slightly less visually offensive wealthy commoners. Last Sylvana knew, Faelian had taken up residence at the Tiber Septim Hotel with his lover, Atraena, after his Skooma habit had cost him his ancestral estate, so that was as good a place to start as any.
She walked the streets that had once been so familiar to her like a stranger, and without Vicente there to ground her. She wore a different disguise this time, so nobody could link the person entering the Lothair estate right before that rickety old wretch died to the concerned old friend now asking for Faelian. Her new disguise was a bit more like the things she used to wear; not quite silk and velvet, but fine linen with lovely embroidery, like something a somewhat wealthy merchant might wear to try and endear herself to the upper crust.
She found the hotel and stepped in, head held high like someone who just assumed they’d be entirely welcome wherever they went.

Now the next part would be risky. She needed Atraena to recognize her. They'd been passing acquaintances at best, but they'd never been unkind to each other. Sylvana would bring up Faelian with the gentle voice of a concerned friend, dagger hidden by big, compassionate eyes. Offer comfort while plotting murder.
And therein lay the risk. If Faelin died afterwards and Atraena bothered to connect the dots, it would make Sylvana’s work a lot more difficult in the future. Nothing would tie her murder of Faelian to the Brotherhood, but one doesn‘t need to be an assassin to kill a man with so many enemies. Sylvana would be a wanted woman again; back to caking her face in makeup and dyeing her hair. And after she had just gotten used to the ability to be in public undisguised again.
No. While revealing herself might have been necessary, she had to approach the matter with an extremely delicate touch.

The Tiber Septim Hotel was one of the most upscale establishments in the city, meant for the discerning traveller with plenty of gold to spend. It had a spacious lobby with marble floors and plenty of plush seats and tables for patrons to meet and socialize. It was odd that Faelian could still afford staying there… unless, of course, it was Atraena paying for everything.
As luck would have it, Atraena was sitting at one of these tables, reading a book. However, her vacant gaze and melancholic frown made it seem like her mind was a million miles away.
Sylvana approached her, and delicately cleared her throat. “Hello Atraena. It's been a while.”
The Altmer flinched and dropped her book. Her head whipped around, eyes widened, then narrowing. “Sylvana? Is that you?”
Sylvana gave her an uneasy smile, hands folded over her stomach; the very image of demure femininity she had been taught to convey since birth. It felt wrong by now, to act so innocent, like wearing clothing she had long outgrown. “It’s me.”
“By the Nine! Everyone was looking for you! Where have you been?!”
Sylvana looked away, pretending to be contrite. “I know. I'm sorry. But after everything that happened, the Imperial City just held too many painful memories. Even thinking of coming back here broke my heart.” She wiped her eyes, as if fighting back tears. “But please, let's not talk about that. I can take being here, as long as I don’t think about it. So please, enough about me. How have you been? And how is Faelian?”
Atraena's face fell. “That… I've been…” Her eyes welled up with tears. “Oh Sylvana, I don‘t know what to do anymore! Faelian won't even try to get better, and my savings are slowly running out.”
Sylvana reached out and gently stroked the back of her hand. “I am so sorry. I hadn’t heard anything about him for a while and hoped that meant that he was improving, otherwise I wouldn’t have asked. Don’t you have any family you could ask for help?”
“Not anymore”, she sniffled. “My parents helped us at first. But now they say that they don’t even want to see my face unless I leave him.”
“Oh…” Sylvana hummed sympathetically and pulled her close into a comforting hug.
Atraena accepted it, though she had to bend down to hug Sylvana, so distressed that any kind of comfort was welcome, even from someone she barely knew. “I spend all day worrying and trying to find ways to keep us housed and fed. And what does Faelian do?” Her arms tightened around Sylvana. “He spends his days in a drugged stupor in that abandoned house in the Elven Garden District, with not a single care for me or our future!”
“I'm sure that things will get better”, Sylvana muttered soothingly. “I will keep you and Faelian in my prayers.”
Atraena finally let go, wiping at her reddened eyes. “Thank you, Sylvana. I will pray for you as well.”

Sylvana left the hotel behind, now that she had the information she had come for. Faelian would receive a swift end. Atraena would weep at the loss, but in the end, it would set her free. Sylvana would pray for both of them, indeed. She would pray for Sithis to receive Faelian's soul, and for Atraena to be able to start a new life, without being dragged down by a selfish man.

Chapter Text

Sylvana had never been to the Elven Garden district before. It was home to the Imperial City's middle class; the houses were clean, but not elaborately decorated as the mansions at Talos Plaza were.
Atraena had mentioned that Faelian usually spent his days at an abandoned house here; surely such a place would stick out? The “abandoned house” that hid her home back in Cheydinhal sure did. Boarded up doors and windows, that’s what she needed to look out for.

She walked the clean streets with a relaxed posture, giving the impression of a woman on a leisurely walk. People passed her with brief, polite greetings, but paid no further attention to her otherwise. Her eyes slid from door to door, finding flowerpots, garlands and other cheesy decorations people frequently adorned their front doors with.
She was about to give up when she finally saw one that fit the bill; wooden boards loosely attached to the frame to deny entry. It was apparent, even at a distance, that one could easily pull those off or duck underneath to get inside.
Sylvana looked up and down the street. Only a few middle-aged women stood a few paces down the street, so occupied with their exchange of gossip that surely they wouldn’t notice anything else. So Sylvana carefully slid the door open and ducked underneath the boards to get inside.

The interior looked about as she had expected. Simple, beaten up furniture, a lot of shattered crockery, and even more spiderwebs. But no Faelian; at least not in the main room. She checked the upstairs bedroom, which was in a similarly sorry state, and the cellar; which contained nothing but a few barrels of wine and the corpse of who she believed to be the previous owner; stabbed and then left to bleed out. The Imperial guards were really slacking off on their cleanup duty. Or whoever had killed this man had paid them off. Oh well, Sylvana decided. None of her business. At least he hadn’t started to smell yet.

Since Faelian obviously wasn’t here yet, Sylvana decided to sit at the top of the stairs, so he wouldn’t see her when he came in, and wait.
The minutes crawled by, slow like syrup. She leaned her head against the wall. To think such misery existed in the wealthiest and arguably safest city in all of Cyrodiil… She was lucky that Lucien had found her, and that the Dark Brotherhood had so thoroughly accepted her. How had she never seen just how thoroughly alone one could be in a crowd? Like that poor man in the cellar. He had died a while ago, yet nobody seemed to care or miss him.
She took out Sufferthorn, and watched the dim light reflect on its gilded hilt, and how the smooth metal of the blade distorted her reflection. She twirled the dagger around her hand, once, twice. She almost dropped it the third time around, when she had to sneeze mid-twirl, and decided that maybe playing around with an enchanted dagger wasn’t a good idea. Void, if only Faelian would show up already…

After what felt like an eternity and many more sneezes, the door finally creaked open, and the tall figure of a high elf slipped inside.
Sylvana hardly recognized Faelian; the last time she had seen him, he had been the epitome of Altmeri beauty. Tall, with luscious blonde hair and bright eyes. Now he looked starved, and his clothing was dirty and torn, only bearing a passing resemblance to the finery it must have been in the past. His hair had gone grey, and a lot of it had fallen out. But what struck Sylvana most were his eyes. They were open far too wide, the pupils only pinpricks, and stared at the small bottle in his hands. He was giggling. Giggling like a madman.
He tore at the cork of the bottle so roughly he almost dropped it, and then slammed the contents back like it contained liquid divinity.
Sylvana had seen and heard her fair share of disturbing things during her time in the Brotherhood, but the way this man slobbered down poison with heavy, desperate gulps actually made her stomach twist. She sent a quick prayer to Sithis, so that her blade may strike true, and carefully slid from her hiding place.

Faelian was so occupied sucking even the last remnants of skooma out of the bottle that he didn’t see her coming. She grabbed him by the back of his ragged shirt and pulled him down far enough to let her blade kiss his throat. Blood sprayed, mixed with the skooma from his esophagus. He gasped, and gurgled… and died. The skooma bottle shattered on the floor, shards getting lost in the pool of blood. Sylvana let him slump forward. Took off the blood-soaked glove and stuffed it into her satchel. Wiped down Sufferthorn’s glowing blade. The weapon purred in her hand when she sheathed it under her disguise. She tried to force down the nausea that Faelian’s display had caused her. Skooma really was wicked stuff, if it could make someone who had once been so noble and beautiful act like... this.

Sylvana had not expected to run into Atraena as she left the house. The Altmer had been crying, from the looks of it; her lovely golden skin was tinged with red around her eyes.
They stared at each other for a moment.
“What are you doing here?” Atraena’s voice was shaky.
Sylvana swallowed hard. Oh Sithis, Night Mother, why now? Had she somehow displeased the Dread Father, to be caught like this? “Atraena… I-.. I meant to talk to Faelian for you. I thought maybe I could… I don’t know why I expected him to listen to me. I just felt so terrible for you. But…” She worked up some crocodile tears. “It’s terrible, Atraena. I entered the house to confront him, but…”
“Sylvana?” She grabbed Sylvana by the shoulders. “Sylvana, did something happen to Faelian? Tell me!”
“He was on the floor when I came in”, Sylvana whispered, voice soft and high-pitched. “I-it was dark, and I thought he may have taken too much Skooma, that he may need help, but… Oh Divines, there was so much blood…”
Atraena’s hands flew to her mouth, then she pushed Sylvana aside and rushed into the house. Sylvana remained where she was, trying hard to keep her distressed mask on. A loud, heart-rending wail echoed from the inside of the house.
Oh Atraena, Sylvana thought with genuine compassion. Mourn the man he used to be, not the one he became. The true Faelian died a long, long time ago. Bury what remains of him and move on with your life.

A nearby guard heard the commotion and approached Sylvana.
“What is going on here? Speak, citizen!”
Her breath caught in her throat, and her heart began pounding. Shit. “I- My friend- I wanted to speak to him, for her, but when I went inside- oh Divines, the blood!” She buried her face in her hands in heavy, heaving sobs. “So much blood!”
The guard stood up a little straighter, and raised his hands in a comforting gesture. “Please, miss, do try to calm yourself! I need to know what happened here!”
“It’s Faelian”, Sylvana whispered thinly.
The guard’s eyes widened. “The addict?”
Sylvana nodded, her voice still thin and brittle. “I meant to speak to him. T-to appeal to his conscience. Poor Atraena has suffered so much because of him. B-but when I found him here…” She sobbed into her hands again, the very image of shock and contrition.
He looked over to the open door, then to her. “Stay right here.” With that, he rushed inside.
Crisis averted. For now.
So Sylvana waited, as she had been told. Leaving now would have been suspicious.

A few minutes later, the guard came back out, comforting an inconsolable Atraena. Sylvana rushed to her side, ever the supportive friend, and pulled her into a tight hug.
“I am so sorry”, she whispered into her shoulder.
Atraena leaned against her. “I thought I could save him. I thought he would overcome this, and we could have a future… “ She tightened her arms around Sylvana’s small frame. “Why do the Divines let these terrible things happen, Sylvana? Why did it have to be him?”
Sylvana patted her back. “I don’t know. I don’t… know.”
The guard perked up at the mention of her name. “Sylvana? Pardon me, but would you happen to be Sylvana Virelius?”
Oh no. This contract was spiralling out of control so quickly that Sylvana could hardly keep up with it. And she couldn’t exactly lie about her identity; not in front of Atraena.
“I am. But now is really not the time.” She gently pried Atraena’s arms off of herself and instead put her hands on her shoulders. “Will you be alright? Do you want me to take you back to the hotel? Or to your parents’ house?”
“I shall escort Lady Atraena”, the guard offered. “Meanwhile, you should seek out a magistrate. We have been searching for you, Lady Virelius.”
“Yes”, Sylvana said, not entirely able to hide her sudden irritation. “Or so I’ve heard. Do forgive me if I didn’t rush to answer the call of my family’s killers, or trust the men who stood by as they died.”
His face reddened slightly. “That is… understandable, Mylady. However, I must insist-”
“...-that I seek out a magistrate as soon as possible, yes. I understood as much. But as you can see, my friend is in distress. Helping the Imperial Legion make up for their failures is the last thing on my mind right now!” Sylvana glared at the guard, and most of her fury was genuine this time. Of course they would ignore a traumatized woman when there was a chance to restore their “good name”. She sighed, frustrated. “How does this sound: I will accompany you as you escort Atraena home. After that, you may escort me to the magistrate.”
The guard paused, and she could almost see the little gears turning in that otherwise empty skull of his. Then he tilted his head respectfully. “That is… an acceptable solution, Mylady.”

Sylvana didn’t leave Atraena’s side during the whole walk back to the Talos Plaza district; one hand always on her back, the other at her elbow, like she was supporting a sickly relative. They brought her straight to her parents’ house, and once they heard the story, they took Atraena in with little hesitation.
After that, the guard bid Sylvana to follow him, and she did.

Chapter Text

The courthouse was in the Palace District, where all the government buildings were. A district of towers and sterile white walls, with a few flowerbeds to loosen up the otherwise quite dreary atmosphere. Sylvana followed the guard, a carefully curated mask of both innocence and arrogance on her face. She stared at the armored back in front of her, and then took a quick look around. There were a few guards, servants and officials milling about, but nobody seemed to pay attention to her. So she quickly slipped out of her remaining glove, pulled its bloodstained twin from her satchel and tossed both into a nearby bush.

The courthouse itself was dark, lit by sconces along the marble walls, barely illuminating the many sour-faced portraits of past Emperors, framed in elaborately engraved golden frames.
Footsteps echoed in this corridor, almost unnaturally loud, and they quickly began tugging at Sylvana's rapidly fraying nerves. Finally, the guard stopped in front of a massive cherry wood door, knocked and opened it with a bow, allowing Sylvana to step through first.

The magistrate's office was cloaked in the same flickering shadows as the rest of the building, with sconces glowing in between large shelves stuffed to the brim with lawbooks and legal scrolls.
The magistrate himself was a portly Imperial with greying hair, who sat at a heavy oak desk and looked up from his paperwork when Sylvana entered.
“How may I help you?”
Sylvana swallowed the lump in her throat and stepped forth. She met his gaze head-on, the gesture of a woman used to being listened to when she spoke. “Your Honor, I am Sylvana Virelius, daughter of the late Baron and Baroness Alexandre and Jeanne-Marie Virelius. I am here to reclaim my title and inheritance after they have been unjustly taken from me.”
The magistrate stared at her for a moment, processing the information. “Ah, Lady Virelius. How fortunate that you finally saw fit to heed our summons.” He gestured towards a young boy in a corner of the room. He was dressed like a courtier but had been so still and unassuming that Sylvana hadn’t even noticed him at first, and he obeyed the wordless order by immediately pulling a prepared scroll from one of the shelves.
“Now all I need is your signature, confirming that you have reclaimed what was taken from you, and that you will seek no further recompense for the Lothair incident, be that legal or… otherwise.”
This was obviously just the government covering their rears, but Sylvana was past the point of caring. She just wanted to get this matter over with and go home before things spiralled out of control any further.
The boy carefully unrolled the scroll and placed it on the desk, while the magistrate dipped a quill in ink and handed it to Sylvana. Her heart was hammering so fiercely that her head was spinning. It was just a signature; words on a piece of parchment. It didn’t change anything. She was no Baroness anymore. She was Sylvana, Eliminator of the Dark Brotherhood, lover and fledgeling of Vicente Valtieri.
The tip of the quill had barely touched the parchment when the door flew open, slamming against the wall with a deafening crash.
In the doorframe stood a middle-aged man in elaborately decorated and well-polished armor, breathing heavily. He pointed at Sylvana, and his eyes narrowed.
The magistrate seemed utterly unimpressed by that entrance. “Captain Phillida, you are interrupting legal proceedings. Explain yourself.”
Still breathless, the man briefly looked over to the magistrate. “Your Honor, this woman is an agent of the Dark Brotherhood!”
Oh Sithis, no. Adamus Phillida; Ocheeva had once briefly mentioned him. A venerated Captain of the Imperial Guard and sworn enemy of the Brotherhood.
Sylvana’s hands flew to her chest. “What? I just regained my house and honor. Must my good name be dragged through the mud yet again by baseless accusations?”
“Please, Lady Virelius, calm yourself”, the magistrate said in the deadpan voice of a man who believed himself criminally underpaid, despite earning more in a day of paperwork than most people did for a whole life of hard labor. “Do you have any proof for your accusation, Captain Phillida?”
“Indeed I do!”, Phillida said, eyes wide with fervor. “She was seen leaving the scene of Lord Faelian's murder! Practically caught in the act!”
“That is circumstantial evidence at best”, the magistrate replied. “But certainly suspicious. Lady Virelius, if you would be so kind to explain?”
“Certainly, Your Honor.” Sylvana gave him the same story she had given the guard; that she had sought out Faelian on Atraena’s behalf and had instead found him dead. The magistrate listened intently, index finger tapping on the desk.
“I saw Lady Virelius at the scene of the crime, Your Honor”, the guard who had brought Sylvana there piped up once she had ended her explanation. “And with all due respect to the captain, she did not look like an assassin. Just a very distressed woman who had witnessed something awful.”
“I see.” The magistrate hummed thoughtfully.
Phillida snarled. “You cannot be serious. You actually believe her? Search her! I guarantee that she has weapons and poison on her person!”
With a deep, weary sigh, the magistrate turned to Sylvana again. “Lady Virelius, would you agree to a search, so that we can close the curtain on this circus?”
Sylvana sent a quick prayer of gratitude to Sithis for giving her the idea to not take any poison with her and discard her bloodied gloves. “Please, go ahead. I have nothing to hide. Only the dagger I use for self defense while I travel.”
The magistrate gave the guard a sharp nod, which sent him into motion. “I am terribly sorry, Lady Virelius, but I must-”
“No need to worry; I shan’t judge a good man for following orders”, she replied in a slightly kinder voice.
His hands were shaking as he patted her down; finding only Sufferthorn and an empty satchel. He quickly stepped back once he was done and bowed slightly. “Nothing, Your Honor, Captain. Only the dagger.”
“Would that be all, or must I suffer yet more humiliation until you are satisfied?”, Sylvana asked, voice sharp and dripping with condescension.
“I will confiscate that dagger!” Phillida lurched forward, grabbing at Sufferthorn’s hilt. “It might be poisoned!”
“Captain Phillida!” The magistrate rose from his seat. “You have already embarrassed the Imperial Guard enough for today. You are to retire honorably in two weeks; do you really wish to make enemies now, in the name of paranoia?” He leaned over to Sylvana. “My sincerest apologies, Lady Virelius. I shall see to it that the Captain is disciplined for his behaviour today. Now please, the signature?”
“NO!” Phillida stared at her with reddened face. “Ask her where she’s been! Ask her why nobody could contact her in the months since her family’s execution!”
The magistrate just responded with a dismissive hand gesture, and the guard carefully put his hand on Phillida’s elbow.
“Please, Captain.”
Phillida calmed down, but his gaze still burned with hatred. “This isn’t over.” With those words, he turned and left, slamming the door behind him again.

The tension didn’t leave Sylvana’s body when she left the courthouse. Or the city. It stayed for the entire ride back to Cheydinhal, and only really started dissipating when the well-familiar black door closed behind her with a whispered “Welcome Home”. She found herself leaning against the wall, light-headed and weak, before staggering in the direction of Ocheeva’s private room.

Ocheeva looked up from her book when Sylvana entered. “Ah, dearest sister. Do come in. I assume you mean to report your success on your latest contract?”
Sylvana wordlessly dropped herself onto the other chair at Ocheeva’s table. “Faelian’s dead.”
“Indeed he is!” Ocheeva rested her chin on her hand. “However, it has come to my attention that there have been a few… hiccups, this time.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” Sylvana didn’t know what else to say. She hadn’t known just how much a contract could spiral out of control until now, and she felt burned out.
“Don’t be sorry, dear sister. Be better. I have seen plenty of promising siblings meet their ends due to overconfidence; I’d hate to have to count you among their ranks. As things stand now, you have killed Faelian and earned your payment. But you were almost caught and drew the attention of Adamus Phillida of all people, and therefore, your bonus is forfeit.”
“Yes, Ocheeva. I understand. I will do better next time.”
“And that is all Sithis, the Night Mother and I ask.” She reached across the table and put her hand on Sylvana’s shoulder. “Now rest, dearest sister. You look like you need it.”

And who else would Sylvana seek out next, but Vicente? He was in his room, as usual, sorting some contract summaries, when Sylvana stumbled in without knocking and just sat down at his table, letting her head sink onto its polished wooden surface.
He just stared at her wordlessly for a moment before sliding into the chair across from her. “So may I assume that the contract didn’t go according to plan?”
“Understatement. Of. The. Era.”
He reached for her, letting the tips of his fingers graze her forehead and temples. “Do you want to talk about it?”
She let out a deep sigh. “It all went fine at first, until it didn’t. I got caught. Lied my way out of it. Got caught again. Lied my way out of it again.” She scowled at nothing in particular. “I messed up.”
“Sounds like it”, he responded, not stopping his tender attentions. “It happens to the best of us.”
“I didn’t think things could fall apart like that”, she admitted in a soft voice, leaning into his touch.
“And that, my dear, is where you went wrong.” He slid his chair closer to hers. “But you managed to evade a worse outcome, and know how to avoid this kind of situation in the future. So it's not the end of the world.” He pressed his lips to her temple. “I can only echo Ocheeva’s sentiment: You need to be more careful. After all, you are the first person I have allowed myself to get truly attached to in thirty years.”
Sylvana leaned her head against his shoulder. “What happened to the last one?” She winced as soon as the words had left her mouth. “Sorry. You don‘t have to answer.”
He chuckled softly. “No need to apologize. Thirty years ago, my former lover ended our relationship when he rose into the rank of Speaker; he felt that romantic entanglements like ours would cause a conflict of interest.”
“I suppose that makes sense.” Sylvana further leaned into his touch, letting his loving lips wipe away her stress. Until her eyes flew open in realization. “Wait. Speaker? Are you talking about Lucien?”
He laughed. “How very perceptive of you. Yes. It was Lucien. He was in his early twenties back then; fierce, hot-blooded and just as capable of wielding his honey-coated dagger of a tongue as he is today.”
“In his twenties”, Sylvana repeated, trying to somehow imagine the calm, professional Lucien she had met as the passionate youth Vicente was describing. “So he's… in his fifties now? He doesn‘t look like it. Is he…?”
“A vampire? No. I offered, but he declined. Lucien is just one of those infuriatingly lucky mortals who age like fine wine.” Vicente, unbothered, peppered kisses from her temple down to her jaw. “Does it bother you? That I used to be involved with Lucien, I mean.”
“No”, she said sincerely. Then she chuckled. “But I must congratulate you on your excellent taste in both men and women.”
“Of course.” His lips wandered down to her neck, where her pulse had once been. “I am a man of refined tastes, after all.” He took a deep breath of her scent. “Shall I help you relax, my dear? I promise to… try not to make you scream quite as much this time.”
She laughed breathlessly. “Oh, please do.”

Chapter Text

Sylvana had expected to wake up as she usually did; wrapped up in Vicente's embrace, enveloped by his scent.
But instead, she woke up to a sharp, acrid stench, like someone had tossed a bunch of vegetables into a pot and forgotten them on the fire. Her eyes flew open and she wanted to sit up, but Vicente held her tight and just groaned.
“Don't worry, the sanctuary isn’t burning; Antoinetta-Marie is just cooking again. Despite repeated requests to leave that to others.” He let out a low, frustrated growl.
“You're kidding. There's no way her cooking is that bad.”
He released her from his embrace. “Go to the kitchen and see for yourself. Just try not to get too close, or you'll smell of it for days, and if garlic is involved, I won‘t be able to come close to you until the stench is gone.”
She smiled and teasingly wiped a stray lock of hair behind his ear. “What? You wouldn’t brave an unpleasant smell for me? You wound me.”
He frowned. “It’s not a matter of preference, but of health. Garlic isn’t just unpleasant to me, it legitimately makes me sick. Even the smell can be enough to make me break out in hives. So I mean what I said; that I can’t be near you if you smell of garlic, not that I won’t.”
“Oh. Understood.” She made a mental note to avoid garlic like the plague in the future. “Have you told Toni that?”
“Many, many times.” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “She keeps saying that I am too old to be this picky.”
Sylvana reached down for her tunic and sat up once she found it. “I’ll go talk to her.”
“If you think that it will help, go ahead”, he grumbled. “But she never listened to me.”
“Well”, Sylvana said, kissing his cheek before getting dressed. “You know how us young ones are. Our elders can lecture us until they’re blue in the face, but when a peer says something, we are more inclined to actually listen.”
“True”, he conceded. “Also please never call me your elder again.”
“Getting touchy about age, are we, darling?”
He gave her a long, deadpan look. “I definitely should have made you scream more last night; you still have way too much energy.”
“I love you too, Vicente.” With one last wink and chuckle, she left their cozy little nest to go confront the mythical beast that was Antoinetta-Marie’s cooking.

The closer she got to the kitchen, the more Sylvana wanted to flee back to Vicente again. It was awful; like a corpse being burned after decomposition had long set in. But for the sake of sanctuary harmony and not having to wake up to something like this in the future, she continued down the hall, the fabric of her sleeve pressed tightly over her nose and mouth to filter out at least some of the odor.
Some of her siblings already stood by the door to the community quarter, either to confront Antoinetta-Marie, or simply out of morbid curiosity, or because her cooking had driven them from their beds.
“Oh dear”, Ocheeva sighed, massaging her temples. “That is a lot of our food budget down the drain.”
“She means well”, Telaendril said. “I think.”
“So.” Mraaj-Dar looked around the gathered assassins. “Who is going to go in there and talk to her?”
Suddenly, everyone found their attention completely captivated by random things in the room, like Schemer, or the Black Hand banners along the wall, or dust motes on the floor.
“I’ll go”, Sylvana volunteered once she joined the group.
They all breathed a collective sigh of relief, and immediately regretted it, because it meant taking a deep breath of Antoinetta-Marie’s latest experiment.
“Please, by all means, dear sister. Maybe you’ll get through to her.” Ocheeva grabbed Sylvana by the shoulders, opened the kitchen door and shoved her through before she could even react.
“Good luck!”, Teinaava called out after her before the door slammed shut again.

The community quarter was almost entirely cloaked in stinging smoke, making her lungs cramp and her eyes water. She took careful steps, arms outstretched so she wouldn’t run into anything.
“Sylvie, is that you?”, called Antoinetta-Marie’s voice somewhere ahead of her. “I’m making breakfast! Do you want to help?”
“Sure”, Sylvana said, and was immediately thrown into a coughing fit. “What are you making?”
“Leek, mandrake and onion stew! You’re a bit late; most of the hard work is done already. But you can help me with taste testing, and maybe set the table?” She appeared out of the smoke and pulled Sylvana towards the stove. “It’s been ages since someone agreed to try my cooking! They all say that I can’t cook and shouldn’t try. Can you believe that?”
“Forgive me if I’m wrong, Toni, but isn’t mandrake frequently used in poisons?”
“Oh yes, but trust me, it’s perfectly harmless! I often ate mandrake when I was younger and couldn’t find anything else, and look, I’m still here and healthy as a horse!” She dipped a wooden spoon into the green-ish sludge in the pot. “Here, try it!”
Sylvana stared at the little puddle of… something on the spoon and tried her absolute best to suppress her gag reflex. At least there was no garlic in it. So she carefully took a sip, just to avoid hurting Antoinetta-Marie’s feelings. Her stomach lurched once the bitterness of the burnt onions spread in her mouth, followed by numbness from the mandrake. She swallowed and hoped to the Void that there was a potion against an upset stomach in the sanctuary's medicine closet.
Antoinetta-Marie's face fell when Sylvana was quiet for too long, trying to wrestle the muscles in her throat into actually swallowing. “You don't like it.”
“It is certainly… unique”, Sylvana said hoarsely, as soon as her esophagus had realized that resistance in the face of Sylvana’s overwhelming love and care for her sister was a lesson in futility. “Where did you get the recipe?”
“Oh, it's my own creation! I ate this stew a lot when I was young. At least, whenever other people on the street allowed me to use their campfire and pot. If not, I'd just eat the ingredients raw! Whatever made my stomach stop rumbling. Because that’s what food is for; to keep you alive.”
Sylvana’s heart quietly cracked in two. “Oh Toni… yes. It is. But it can be so much more.” She stepped towards the hearth, grabbed two oven mitts and took the pot off the fire. “You’ve been with the Brotherhood for how long now?”
Antoinetta-Marie stared at her with big, misty eyes. “Twelve years. Lucien found me in the gutter and brought me here when I was sixteen. Why?”
“So you’ve been living here for a good, long while.” Sylvana used one of the oven mitts to fan away the noxious smoke. “Living. Not surviving. You don’t have to be happy with the bare minimum anymore. You deserve better food than just whatever gets the job done.”
The younger Breton looked away. “I just wanted to do something nice for you all.”
“And we appreciate that”, Sylvana said gently. “So how about we ask Ocheeva for some cooking lessons for both of us? Because I don’t know how to cook, either.”
“You don’t?”
She chuffed amusedly. “Void, no. I used to have a personal cook. Well, he was my family’s personal cook.”
Antoinetta-Marie laughed and wrapped one arm around Sylvana’s waist. “Oh Sylvie. You’re so spoiled.”
“More than you could possibly know”, she responded affectionately and ruffled Antoinetta-Marie’s hair. “So what do you say? Shall we get this cleaned up and then talk to Ocheeva?”
Antoinetta-Marie sighed. “I suppose we should. Pity about the stew, though.”

A little while later, both women stepped out of the community quarter, hands still wrinkled from scrubbing the pot. Ocheeva stepped towards them, arms crossed. She didn’t say anything at first, just hit Antoinetta-Marie with the typical Disappointed Older Sister stare.
Antoinetta-Marie avoided her gaze for a moment. “Sorry about the stew.”
“You should be. We may not be lacking money or food, but that doesn’t mean that we can waste ingredients like that.” Ocheeva’s eyes softened just a little. “I know that you just want to help. But not like this.”
Sylvana quickly positioned herself between them. “Actually, Ocheeva, Toni and I have been talking. And we agree that the best way to avoid these types of situations in the future is for the both of us to take cooking lessons. So we were hoping you could teach us.”
The Argonian opened her mouth in surprise. “Really? Is that true, Antoinetta-Marie? You would agree to learn?”
“I would. Sylvie can’t cook, either, and it’ll be fun for us to learn together.”
Ocheeva considered it for a moment. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt. Very well then. Meet me in the kitchen at noon today, as soon as the… vapors from the latest experiment have dissipated.”

Noon arrived quickly. There was still a slight hint of smell in the community quarter, but it would easily be covered up by the scent of better food. And so, Sylvana, Antoinetta-Marie and Ocheeva stood in the kitchen, aprons over their clothing.
“Alright, then”, Ocheeva said with the voice of a woman who had just volunteered for a suicide mission. “Let’s start with something simple: Vegetable soup. Sylvana, you peel the potatoes. Antoinetta-Marie, you cut the carrots.”
She leaned against the wall as her two students worked, but occasionally came closer to inspect and correct.
“Sylvana, you’re peeling half the potatoes off along with the skin. That’s a huge waste of food; try to cut as close to the skin as possible.”
“Yes, Ma’am.” Sylvana adjusted the position of her peeling knife.
“And Antoinetta-Marie, you’re gonna cut yourself if you keep going like that. Try keeping your fingers tucked in, like claws.”
“Oh, right!”
They made some decent headway; cleaning, peeling and cutting different vegetables.
“No garlic, Toni. You know how Vicente reacts to that”, Sylvana said when she caught Antoinetta-Marie trying to sneak a whole clove of it into the soup.
She pouted. “Oh, he needs to grow up. It can’t be that bad.”
“Actually”, Sylvana responded firmly. “It can. I have a similar condition; Strawberries make me terribly sick.” She stirred the soup. “One time, when I was… ten, I think? My family got invited to a banquet the Countess of Bruma hosted. I knew I couldn’t eat strawberries, but I still swiped one of the tartlets. My throat closed up, I almost died, and the banquet was ruined after that. My parents were so mad, they forbid me from ever even looking at strawberries again.”
“Oh yes, I also once knew a brother who had similar reactions to flowers”, Ocheeva mused. “He could scarcely leave the sanctuary during spring and summer because he would be constantly sneezing. His whole face would be swollen and itchy.”
“That bad, huh?” Antoinetta-Marie stared at the garlic in her hand, then put it away again. “No garlic, then.”

Under Ocheeva’s strict guidance, the soup was finally finished.
“So”, Sylvana said, brandishing a spoon like it was a dagger raised against her worst enemy. “Time for a taste test.” She scooped a spoonful of soup out, making sure to get a bit of everything on it; broth and vegetables. With a quick prayer to Sithis, she shoved it into her mouth… and stopped.
It was a bit too salty. And maybe a bit bland overall. But it wasn’t poison sludge and therefore a definite improvement.
“Well?”, Antoinetta-Marie asked, tension written plainly on her youthful face.
“It’s… good!”
Ocheeva stepped forth and also tried it. She licked her lips afterwards. “Not bad. Well done, you two.”
“Here.” Sylvana offered another spoonful to Antoinetta-Marie. “Try it!”
She did. And as soon as she swallowed, her eyes lit up. “Wow, it really is good! Just wait until the others try it!”
“Come on then, let's tell them dinner is ready.” Sylvana was already walking towards the door, but she stopped when she saw the cloaked figure leaning against the wall next to it.
There, with arms crossed and the usual charming smile, stood Lucien.