#oh morry

[shadows-of-almsivi]

((truth meme)) "Moraelyn, do you love me? Check □yes or □no. Was I good in bed? Are you open to receiving gifts?"

[He tilts his head curiously at the carefully hand-scribed form; so precise and earnest, much like the man. He raises his eyebrows a little, smiling slightly in amusement with his quill hovering just over the paper a moment. He scratches a neat little checkmark precisely between the two squares and hands it back.]

You were divine, my dear, quite sincerely. Very attentive, very... Thorough. It is always a deep pleasure to share my bed with one who is capable of understanding my body's more singular needs, and sweeter still with someone with manners as fine as yours. I was quite delighted to learn such an intriguing side of you.

As for gifts, I cannot imagine what more you could possibly give me. I'll certainly not stop you, of course, but truly, there's no need to trouble yourself on my account.

Though it does make me feel rather special, I admit...

[shadows-of-almsivi]

---Frostfall, 25th, 4E 201---

They took me back to my house. I slept fitfully the whole way there, plagued with nightmare and misery. Qa’Dojo took to casting small spells of calming touch for me, to smooth some of my resting hours. He appears wearied for the effort, but I must admit I slept much more soundly with his hand cradling the back of my head, bathing my mind in muffled softness.

I thanked my long-suffering travelling companions for their care, and asked them if I might have a few days to myself, to come to terms with things in peace. They accepted my needs, and say that they would be in Falkreath if I have need of them.

It is not a lie, of course, that I need some solitude. I do need that, more than almost anything.

But not more than I need oblivion.

My bones ache as though wrenched each from their attachments, my muscles twisted and shuddering in pain and need. Qa’Dojo has been indispensable in calming my pain, but Qa’Dojo is not here. There is a safe I have been keeping by my bed, locked tighter than any thief could hope to pry open. I think Jenassa assumes I keep jewellery and the like in there, why else the strength of the lock?

But no, no jewellery. The safe is filled with my inventory of potions and salves, the kinds too necessary and rare to leave elsewhere. Amongst the stoppered vials and flasks, I know there to be some number of small bottles...

Saints. Thirty-nine bottles. When did it get to be so many?

Thirty-nine bottles of skooma, one bottle of sleeping tree sap, and the bedroom essentials, of course. (Four bottles of stamina potion, four bottles of miscellaneous disease curing potions, and a draught of lasting potency. I have not had reason to use those yet, but it is a habit that has served well over the years.)

I will be careful. I will. It’s just that I am in pain, and wine is not enough to soothe away the horrors in my mind. I simply need to rest.

I will be fine.

[shadows-of-almsivi]

ASKMEME: 36. Talk about your guilty pleasures.

Oh, but I have so many, stranger... Would you like me to list the more exciting ones in private?

For now, then, I will admit a few of the tamer ones, lest there be puritanical Nords within earshot.

I simply adore having my eartips touched.

I spend quite a ridiculous amount of gold on decent cosmetics, and do not feel at all myself without makeup.The selection here, however, really is quite terrible, and seems to be made primarily of troll fat and charcoal. Disgusting.

I once ate so many sugary treats that I was sick for a week, and if given the opportunity I would do precisely that every day.

I am captivated by the sway of Khajiit tails as they walk, though I should not be.

And my deepest desire, truly, is to find someone who can groom my hair and buff my nails for me. Honestly, it has been far too long since I have looked even nearly my best.

The Hlaalu Canton's beautician in Vivec used to have me leave their stall only once I could turn the head of every mer in the tradehall, regardless of gender. They would weep if they could see what's become of me here. My skin is dry from the cold, my nails torn, my hair hack-shaved and uneven. Quite a ways from my youth, with gold-tipped nails and glossed hair shining in the sun.

[shadows-of-almsivi]

---Heartfire, 3rd, 4E 201---

It took a lot of convincing and arguing with several merchants, and a hundred gold pieces, but I return from the marketplace with the last thing I need for tonight. A single bottle of Surilie Brothers red. I have no clue how it has survived these years. Normally, I would have had to make do with lesser wines for this, due to the scarcity of the wine as time wore on. In the beginning, when I started this little annual habit, I would select a very specific vintage. I doubt any of that particular reserve still remains anywhere on Nirn, these days. Today, there will be celebrations and revelry, but tonight is the night of the dead. I cannot help but hope, each year, that the walking restless will one day contain a familiar face or two. Hence my custom, I suppose.

It would be unforgiveable if I were to have my wish the one year I had nothing to gift them with.

[shadows-of-almsivi]

---Last Seed, 29th, 4E 201---

The first bottle of wine goes down fast. It is not meant to be savored. There are candles burning in a plate by the bedstand. That will do. I've poured the first bottle of skooma into the emptied wine bottle, holding the neck of it in gloved hands to protect me from the heating glass. It's nowhere near as fine as I would like, but I believe it will serve.

[shadows-of-almsivi]

---Last Seed, 28th, 4E 201---

A Dunmer farmer crossed paths with me at a bridge. I wore the mask of Mournhold, and yet he showed no recognition of its sacredness. His voice was unfamiliar to me, strangely whorled and lilted with no trace of ash in his throat. He told me he was bound for Solitude, to join the Imperial Legion. He left, saying the Empire protected us, that it was the right choice and best for everyone. I couldn't see for the red filling my eyes, couldn't hear for the rush of my blood in my ears. The farmer begged, and I was all but deaf. Lords forgive me, I cut him down where he stood. This mer was no Dunmer, no matter his eyes or the cast of his skin. An Imperial with pointed ears, he did not deserve to wear the ash upon his skin. I think of my homesick friend, and pray that he is representative of the sentiments I will find among my people here, and not the farmer at my feet. He knows no other land but this; he cannot possibly understand the loveless malignancy of the Empire, full of hollow words of unity and safety, while they crushed our people beneath their heel.

What could possibly have gone so wrong as to make the Dunmer turn to their enemies?

[shadows-of-almsivi]

---Last Seed, 20th, 4E 201---

By mid-morning, I was composed enough to continue on our errand. In truth, if I did not keep my mind on the task at hand, I fear I would never have moved.

The children of Molag Bal walk these lands. Perhaps they take especial umbrage at my scorning of their father. It is clear to me, whatever the case, that the breed which my attacker belonged to is of a seperate strain to the kind I became acquainted with in Cyrodiil.

Let me not speak on this more. I have work to do, and I feel my fingers tremble.