Elder Scroll series 1. Chapter 1

**Dark Obsession**

Disclaimer: I do not own Oblivion

**Chapter One**

_The child huddled in the corner, sobbing with streaks of tears running down her face. She tried to block out the sound of her parents yelling at each other at the top of their lungs with her small hands, but the fleshy barriers weren't enough. It was all her fault that they were fighting again. If she would have been watching where she was going, she would have never knocked over her father's mug, spilling the contents of it everywhere. He had got so upset with her that he'd struck her across the face, yelling out obscenities. Her mother had to come to her rescue, once again, because her father had become physically violent. The woman would tell the man not to strike her child, and he would retort by raising his voice, telling her that their child needed to be disciplined. They would then fight over her for hours, and she would curl up in the corner, wishing that they would just stop. She tried not to be bad, but somehow her actions always resulted in predicaments like this one._

_The five year old girl closed her eyes, trying to escape from this hell by erasing her vision. Even though she could still hear the argument, she could now convince herself that this was all a dream. If she didn't see what was going on, then she would imagine that it wasn't real. To further distract herself, the girl focused solely on the pain in her cheek from her father's earlier assault. Even though it was now a minor sting, it was enough discomfort to lose herself within the sensation. She prodded at her cheek with her small digits, recoiling at the sharp ache that coursed through her face. Slowly, she poked at her cheek again, except this time she didn't remove her fingers. She instead, added pressure to the spot. The pain—when helping her forget the outside world—was her friend. It was good._

"_Keep your hands off of Marielle! If you hit her one more time, I will take her and leave!"_

_Silence followed her mother's beautiful voice, and for a short time, the girl thought that the whole thing was resolved. Her father's voice spoke up, killing her hopes._

"_Oblivion will freeze over before I will let you take my daughter and leave!"_

"_I will," her mom's voice wavered._

"_I'd rather you be dead than to take my family away from me!"_

"_What are you doing?" her mother asked almost frantically._

_Not too soon after her mother had spoken, an orange light caught in the girl's peripheral vision, accompanied by a chilling scream that vibrated through her small frame. Chills raced down her little spine, causing her to shudder and flinch despite not being cold. She heard ringing in her ears from her mother's scream, and a pungent scent reached her nose. Afraid to look, she brought her knees up and buried her face within her hands. She didn't want to see why her mother was screeching, and she most certainly didn't want to know why there was a sound of a fire cackling or an increase in temperature. She wanted nothing more than to disappear. She didn't know how much more of this she could take. _

_After a few moments, the shrieking ended, and the sound of something hitting the stone floor of the cellar registered in her head. Shortly after, she heard her father muttering useless apologies that received no response. From the way that his voice came out, it seemed like the man was crying. Fueled by curiosity, the girl gathered her courage, determined to see what had transpired. Gradually, she lifted her head, and gasped at the horrendous sight before her. Nothing could have ever prepared the girl for what she was facing now. Her mother was lying motionless on the cellar floor, and flames were licking every inch of her disintegrating body. Her father was by her mother's side, crying and murmuring to the soon to be ash._

Unlike her usual nights of waking up with a scream, Marielle was barely shaken by the reoccurring nightmare. She had become accustom to reliving those dark memories of her past, and it didn't faze her like it would have a few years ago. Living in the house with her abusive father for nineteen years would cause anyone to grow numb inside, suppressing any form of emotion.

She rolled over in her bedroll, listening for any sounds of her father upstairs. When she found none, she released a sigh, reveling in her time alone. With him absent, she didn't have to worry about being on guard so much.

She crawled out of her sleeping place, standing gracefully. A groan escaped her mouth as she stretched her arms over her head, relieving the kinks of being idle for so long. Bare feet padded across the stone basement floor as she came upon scorch marks that would forever be burnt into the ground. She concealed her eyes behind their lids in respect to her mother, giving a few moments of silence. She was overcome by the overbearing guilt and sorrow of her mother's death.

Why did her mother have to leave her behind? She was so young, and it was so unfair. She opened her eyes, staring bleakly at the spot where her world had ended. She sort of felt like a traitor because she didn't possess the ability to shed any tears for the loss of her mother. Did that make her a bad daughter? With a shaky hand, she put a scarred arm out, touching the humanoid imprint on the ground as if she could actually feel her mother.

A loud crash upstairs interrupted her, causing her body to go rigid. Her emotions of sorrow receded back into an unreachable void, leaving her impassive and indifferent to the world. She knew that the sound upstairs indicated that her father was home and most likely drunk. He always slammed the door open when he stumbled in at night.

"Marielle you piece of shit, where are you?" a loud voice boomed through the house, assaulting her sensitive hearing.

She flinched at the volume of her father's voice. A scowl appeared on her face at the way that he addressed her. She was tired of his behavior toward her, and she didn't know how much longer she would tolerate it. She tried to ignore him, but his screams persisted, telling her that he wouldn't wait any longer. Begrudgingly, she made her way to the stairs, taking deep breaths along the way to calm her ever rising anger.

When she reached the door, she stopped. Only a fool would go into the common area of the house without knowing where her father was; she had made that mistake too many times before, resulting in the reward of receiving a barrage of attacks. After casting a life detect spell, she saw that her father was standing some distance away from the door, most likely waiting for her to come through. She deactivated the life detect spell, readying herself to evade anything that he might throw at her.

Within one quick motion, she threw the door open and rolled into the room, dodging the wooden chair that was hurled at her. A loud splintering sound shot through the room as the chair broke into several pieces where her head would have been. Marielle looked back to see the damage, failing to escape her father as he slammed her back against the wall by a punch to her stomach. Her breath rushed out of her from the impact that otherwise had no real effect on her; she was used to his rough treatments. Her usually slow beating heart quickened some while she tried to regain her breath through quickened gasps. The scent of ale flew into her nose when she finally regulated her breathing, indicating that her father was indeed drunk.

Her head whipped to the side when his hand collided with her cheek, causing her blood to boil. Not soon after, she was yanked off of her feet by her ruby colored hair, dangling in the air at eye level with her father. She was tired of being treated like trash for no reason, and she was tired of him. On instinct, Marielle glared into the bloodshot eyes before her, and she made a weird hissing noise, baring her teeth at the man. The lividness in her father's chocolate brown eyes wavered, revealing fear for a brief moment. His heartbeat quickened, and her ears picked up the now erratic thudding.

Abruptly, she was tossed aside, landing on a nearby desk. It cracked under the impact, sending her to the floor with the rubble as its legs gave out. When she looked up, her father was stumbling away, muttering under his breath, saying that it was biologically impossible for her to have even survived in her mother's pregnancy. She let him go, pondering over what just happened. Never before had he walked away from her, and never before had she seen such fear in his eyes. Thinking back on that one moment of his fear enlightened her. She glowered at the man as he disappeared around the corner to ascend up the creaky stairs to his bedroom. He should be scared, very scared.

She looked down at her scar covered arms, seeing herself in a different light. She had never heard such a sound emit from her throat, then again, she had never channeled her hatred to the point where she was ready to retaliate. That bastard had did that to her. He stole her childhood and happiness, and he stole her mother away from her all of those years ago. He destroyed all of the light in her, leaving her a cold, dark shell that merely existed. She hated him for turning her into a lifeless waste of space that served no purpose. Most of all, she hated herself for letting him. Had she been stronger, she could have prevented her mother's death, and when she was stronger, she didn't do a damn thing to stop her father's continuous abuse. Her father had always blamed her mother's death on her, and she agreed—she was worthless.

After a few moments of saturating in self-hatred, Marielle made a move to get up. Her hand came in contact with a cool feeling of leather, and she looked down, seeing the remains of what used to be a drawer in the desk and a book that used to occupy the said drawer. Curiously, she grabbed the unmarked book and flipped through the pages, gasping when she realized that it was her mother's diary. Some of the entries dated back to before she was born, and the last entry dated to the day of her death. Not wanting to read the beautiful cursive yet, she closed the book, making a mental note to look at it later—she needed to accomplish something else first.

After depositing the diary into another desk across the room, she walked to the chest in the corner of the room that sat next to the stairs that led up to her father's room. She fumbled around in her pockets in her pants, looking for her lockpick. When her fingers grasped the small metallic utensil, she smiled in victory, pulling it out. She dropped to her knees and hunched over the large wooden box. She worked the lockpick into the hole, thankful for her lessons from Samuel Bantien. He had only taught her how to pick easy to moderate locks, but it was enough to help her out. With a click, the chest unlocked, and she quietly lifted the lid so that it wouldn't make a noise. From a quick glance, the chest seemed only to contain clothes, but she knew better. After tossing out various shirts and pants, she stopped when her prize was revealed.

Looking into the bottom of the chest, she spotted a few daggers. As she reached her hand in, she paused when a particular dagger caught her eye. She frowned realizing that one of the daggers was silver—she abhorred silver. They scarred her body every time that her father had used them to cut her, unlike the iron and steel ones. They hurt a lot more, too. She looked down at her pale arms, reminiscing on the pain. She brought her attention back to the silver thing, grabbing a shirt to grasp it with. With the silver dagger out of the way, she grabbed an iron dagger, bringing it up to eye-level. It wasn't elven or glass, but it would do just fine. She wiped her finger along the edge, noting the sharpness. It would most definitely accomplish her task.

Neglecting to put the items back into the chest, Marielle got up off the floor and turned toward the stairs. One by one, she silently crept up the stairs, failing to make any noise as she merged with the darkness. When she reached the top, she found the door ajar, saving her from having to pick another lock. She quietly slipped into the large bedroom, catching the figure of her father sprawled out on the large bed in the dimly lit room. She clutched the dagger into her right hand, and it fit perfectly into her palm as if it was made for her. In a lazy stroll, she made her way to the man, her instincts screaming for her to stop her advancement. She ignored it and pressed on, her hatred growing with every step.

She now towered over her unsuspected victim as he snored away, oblivious to his upcoming doom. With him being this drunk, she could jump around the room without waking him. She frowned upon the realization that he was face down in the bed fully clothed. She laid the dagger on the bed some distance away from the man, and put both hands on his body. With some difficulty, she rolled the man onto his back, and his snoring grew louder.

She grabbed the dagger off of the bed, looking at him with distaste. Her gaze was then drawn to the pulsing vein in his neck, and the steady beating of his heart drummed in her ears. Her teeth ached in her mouth and her stomach clenched, but she brushed the foreign feeling aside. She grabbed his large arm and she gripped his wrist in her left hand, making sure that the artery was faced upward.

She lowered herself onto her knees and brought the blade to his warm skin, making a shallow cut from the bend of his arm to his wrist. Gradually, a thin line of blood welled up and ran down his arm. Unlike her thick dark, red blood that ran slow, his blood was a bright crimson, flowing fast. The metallic scent hit her nose, and oddly, it smelled rather good. The aroma caused her mouth to salivate and her stomach to clench even tighter in anticipation. Rather than recoiling from her body's foreign reactions to the red liquid, she put the tip of the dagger on the same incision and recut the same wound a little deeper. More of the crimson blood came, entrancing Marielle by the beauty of the way that it poured out. She made intricate designs on his arm, watching the blood with a small smile. When she used up all of the space on the arm that she was working on, she climbed over the man and began doing the same with the other arm. After she grew bored, she crawled off of the bed, avoiding the red stains of the blood from his arms, and stared down at his neck, watching the pulse jump.

Marielle set the dagger on the bed away from the blood, all while keeping her eyes glued to the man's neck. She swallowed hard, too far in her resolve to turn back now. With sure hands, she reached out, pinching his nose with her left and pushing his mouth closed, holding it with her right. After a few seconds, he began to panic, thrashing about wildly. His bloodshot eyes came open with confusion swirling in the depths of them. She released him quickly and grabbed the dagger, allowing his eyes to focus on her. She wanted him to know that she was the reason for his demise.

"M-my love?" he asked, clearly disoriented.

She snarled. That was what he used to call her mother. She didn't even remember what the woman looked like, and she realized that she envied him for knowing the woman that she wanted to know so badly. He remembered what her mother looked like, whereas she didn't. He knew her smile, her laugh, and her life, while she had foggy memories. He took her mother away from her and then had the audacity to call her by the name he had given to her mother. If he loved her so much, then why did he kill her? Despite the turmoil of her internal war, she smiled. At least she looked like her mother, given his outburst. The idea of containing something from her mother was comforting, but it wasn't enough—it would never be. She wanted the woman to be standing before her in flesh and blood, not some faded memories.

"Wrong answer," her hoarse, barely used voice cut through the silence. She raised the blood stained dagger into view, letting him get a full view of it. His eyes turned from wonderment to that same fear that they held earlier. He began to scream, but Marielle lodged the blade in his throat, cutting off the wretched sound. A sick gurgling sound came from his mouth, and he opened and closed it, trying to obtain air as his lungs filled with blood. He flailed about in his last moments, giving her the upmost satisfaction and exhilaration. This was the moment that she had waited her whole life for. She twisted the blade harshly, smiling when large amounts of blood escaped the wound. She listened to his heartbeat deplete, reveling in the sound of his life draining from his body. Within seconds, his form went still, and the life in his eyes faded into dullness.

She snatched the dagger out, intrigued by how the blood ran out of the gaping hole. She stood there, engulfed in the wonderful scent of it and mesmerized by the gushing action. She didn't know how long that she stood there watching, but when the blood slowed, she leaned forward. With gentle fingers, she closed her father's eyelids with her left hand. Shocking herself, she placed a kiss on his forehead, closing her eyes. She then whispered against his clammy skin, "Goodbye, father, you heartless bastard. May you burn in oblivion for the rest of eternity."

After separating herself from her father's corpse, she wiped the dagger free of blood with a part of the sheet that wasn't stained. Almost immediately after she had finished, her legs gave out, and she collapsed to her knees. It took a while to process that she was finally free. She had avenged her mother and herself, bringing justice to the wrongdoer. A maniacal cackle escaped her throat, lifting her spirits. It felt odd to be so…elated, but with her father gone from this world, she couldn't help herself. It was odd, she felt no remorse while taking a life, but she did _feel_ something. In that one moment, she was happy, basking in the thrill of killing. It was different than her usual emotionless persona, and it felt amazing. She laughed, and laughed, and laughed, and then nothing.

0-0

Time passed, and Marielle never moved from her spot on the floor. Although her eyes were staring at the bloodied corpse, they weren't focused. She was torn from her stupor by the tingling of her skin, alerting her that the sun had raised. It was odd how she knew this considering that there were dark drapes covering the windows, but somehow her body had never failed to sense it. Her eyes focused and she turned to glare at the drapes—she had never liked the sun.

A slight pain shot through her legs as she made a move to get up, causing her to wince. When she was successfully on her feet, she made a grab for the dagger, securing it to her side. With an eerie calm, she went for the door without sparing a backwards glance. This was her past, and she was destined to leave it where it belonged—behind her.

Thoughts of leaving crossed her mind as she mounted the stairs to the common room. She couldn't stay here after she had murdered someone. Sooner or later, the authorities would be sent to investigate her father's absence from his frequented locations. Unlike her, he kept up a healthy social life. Occasionally, she would slip out of the house when he was at the bar, but she didn't really talk to anyone, except Samuel Bantien. And she only socialized with him to learn how to pick locks.

The first thing that she did when she reached the leveled floor was head straight to the desk where her mother's diary was. She took a seat at the chair and grabbed the book out of the drawer. Delicate fingers stroked across the worn cover as thoughts of being able to get to know her mother's deepest feelings swirled in her head. She opened the book carefully, turning to the last entry that dated back to the last day of her mother being alive.

_At one point in time, I loved him more than everything else in this world. Now, my love is fading, although it remains strong. He has started to target Marielle, almost like he is jealous of the attention that I give her. He always complains that I don't spend enough time with him because of her, and he wont listen when I try to explain that Marielle needs love and care._

_As of late, he has started to drink heavily, and he always beats my child. I've intervened and even told him meaningless threats, but he persists in his abuse. Tomorrow I will take Marielle, and we will go to Bravil. I know that he will follow, unless I permanently stop him, but I just can't do it myself. I have to visit The Lucky Old Lady._

_In the event that I fail in my endeavors and that you may find this, Marielle, then I ask of you to travel to Bravil. I love you very much, and I'm sorry that I allowed him to continue in his harsh acts against you. In the basement, under the waterfall painting, there are some septims and an amulet. It's enough septims to last you for a while and the amulet is enchanted to help you with your… special traits. _

_May you be happy, my beloved daughter._

A lump had long ago formed in Marielle's throat from the entry. She felt like she wanted to cry, but in this saddened moment, her lacrimal glands once again refused to work. Her mother was indeed a great woman, and she couldn't help but miss her even more. She had caused her mother's death, and she would never forgive herself for it.

She clutched the diary to her chest and allowed dry, tearless sobs to rip through her small form, unable to contain herself. If nothing else bound her to this world, then her mother's request did. She owed the woman that and so much more.

After a few deep breaths, Marielle was able to slow the sobs. She couldn't allow her emotions—or lack thereof, in terms of tears—to prolong her mission any longer. She felt so weak, having experienced so many feelings in such a short time limit. It was like a dam that had held steady for so many years busted open, permitting a raging current to pass through.

Within a few moments, she was able to calm herself to the point of reverting back to her emotionless self. Quickly, she stored the diary on her person and made her way over to the stone stairs that led to the basement. Once on level ground at the bottom, she went over to the painting that was indicated in the diary. She removed it with haste and came face to face with a regular wall. With concentration, she was able to tell that one of the stones was slightly out of place. She reached for it, dropping it on the floor, careful of her feet.

Inside the small hole that was revealed were a small sack and an amulet. Ignoring the currency, she went straight for the amulet. The stone on it was… beautiful. It was a deep ruby color that reminded her of her hair coloring. The subtle hum of the enchantment reverberated through her fingers. She quickly clasped it around her neck, feeling the magic from the jewelry run through her body, enveloping her. She wasn't sure about the special traits that her mother had said that she had, but she wouldn't for a second doubt the woman when she said it would help her. Marielle's eyes went to the sack, and she made a grab for it, hearing the jingle of the septims clang together. Curious to see just how many that the sack contained, she opened the bag, guessing that it had to be over five hundred in there.

Without the patience to count the exact amount of septims, she stuffed the oversized bag into an unoccupied pocket and went to put on her braided leather sandals. She then retrieved her black robe for secrecy and all but ran up the stairs to the main room. She went over to the cupboard and snatched out a couple of apples. They wouldn't be much, but it was enough to sustain her. She held on apple in each hand as she headed to the door, munching on the shiny red fruit that tasted horrible to her. She stopped in front of the wooden portal, hesitating inside, absorbing the darkness that the dark drapes over the windows provided. She could feel that the sun was at its highest point in the sky, and she despised the thought of having to go out in it. Dreading the sun, Marielle suddenly became interesting in the apples, eating at a super slow rate. She frowned when she realized that both were eaten to the core, discarding the remains into a random basket on the side of the door. With a calming breath, she opened the door and stepped outside, leaving the shadows of the candlelight behind.

She didn't spare the local people so much as a glance as she closed the door behind her. The enveloping magic from the amulet made itself known once again, reminding her of its presence. Strangely, her skin didn't feel itchy and uncomfortable like it always did when she stepped into the daylight. Also, her eyes didn't sting and water from the angry ball in the sky. Was this the power of the amulet? She brushed the thought aside, heading toward the front gates of Imperial in an almost lazy manner. Albeit the sun didn't deal its usual physical discomforts on her, Marielle still felt lethargic. She sighed—the sun always seemed to greedily suck the energy right out of her, and she never knew why.

The guards paid her no mind as she officially left the Talos Plaza District with a sluggish gait. She had absolutely no idea where Bravil was, but she did know her way out of Imperial. The bridge in the distance caught her eye and she hurried to it, gazing out at Lake Rumare in wonderment. The deep blue waters were calming, and she felt like she was seeing the world from a different perspective. No longer did she feel trapped, no longer would she have to worry about her father, no longer would she be controlled. From this day on, she vowed that she would start anew. She was no longer a prisoner.

All too soon, she was across the bridge and next to Wawnet Inn. She paused and looked at the establishment longingly. What she wouldn't give to sleep through the day and continue on her way at night, and maybe she could also get directions while she was at it. Mere seconds passed, presenting Marielle with enough time to make up her mind.

She headed toward the Inn, knowing that it wouldn't be wise to stay this close to the city that she had just committed a crime in, but no one knew that her father even had a daughter, so she wouldn't be suspected. The scent of alcohol and cooking meat came from the other side of the door, stopping her in her tracks. She shrugged—she needed the rest.

She pushed the door open and walked inside, glad for the darkness, save for a few candles along the walls. Her relief was erased with anxiety, stopping her in her tracks at the sight of so many people inside of the main room to the right—it didn't matter that it was only two guards and what she assumed to be the owner. She hated interacting with people, and more than that, she hated to be the center of attention. As if the occupants of the main room were out to piss her off today, they all stared in an uncomfortable silence. She scowled in disgust, trying to ignore her audience to no avail.

The silence was broken by the lady behind the wraparound counter, calling her over. Marielle tried her best to ignore the stares as she obliged the woman's request. When she reached the front of the counter, the Imperial guards resumed talking and drinking as if she didn't exist.

When the Altmer looked to be about to speak again, Marielle silenced her by cutting her off. "Do you have an available room?" She turned her hard gaze up to the woman, waiting for her answer. She never actually realized that she was short until she found that the other woman was taller—a lot taller.

The woman offered a smile. "There's a fresh bed available to anyone who's got the ten gold."

Marielle ignored the woman's kind gesture as she withdrew her arm into her sleeve, and grabbed for the septims. She counted out the correct amount with her bony fingers before her hand reappeared from the robe, placing the currency on the counter. It seemed rude to not place them in the woman's palm, but she didn't want to risk coming in contact with her—she wanted to avoid physical contact at all cost.

The owner didn't seem to take offense and handed over a key before grabbing for the coins. "Head upstairs, and look for the last door on your right. That's your room. Sleep well."

Too uncomfortable to continue any forms of communication, she nodded and spun on her heel, heading to go upstairs. After passing the door that she entered on the left and turning a right corner, Marielle paused. Sitting sideways on the stairs that led up to the rooms was a shady looking Breton. He seemed to be preoccupied in watching three pieces of meat that he was cooking on an open fire, and she scrunched up her nose at the horrid smell. She gave him a brief glance over and tried to walk by when his voice stopped her.

"Psst. Hey, you! Yeah, you! Come here! I got what you need..."

She stopped in her tracks, sending a death glare at the pervert. She didn't know who he thought she was, but she wasn't _that _type of girl. "I want nothing to do with you," she replied in an impassive voice that hid her anger. Without wanting to cause a scene that would attract the guards' attention, Marielle rushed by the man and leaped up the stairs.

She wasted no time in making it to her room and inserting the key. With a click, she pushed the door opened and stepped inside. To her pleasure, the room was a medium size. There was a lit candle in the left hand side, a large bed, a chest at the end of the bed, and a set of drawers next to the door. After noticing that she was standing in the room with the door open, she closed it and locked it. She then removed her braided leather sandals and robe, draping the latter over the chest. Not bothering to remove her burlap vest or sack cloth pants, she trusted her nose in telling that the bed was clean and plopped down on it. It felt weird lying on a semi soft bed considering the fact that she was used to a bedroll on the hard basement floor.

Before allowing herself to rest, she removed her dagger from her waist, clasping it tight within her right palm. She didn't feel secure in this foreign location—not that she had ever felt secure after her mother had passed—and the dagger gave her reassurance. Nobody would dare attack her while she rested, at least not anybody who valued their genitals. All too soon, sleep carried her away.

_Thirst clawed at her insides, pulling her from her slumber. She forced her body into a sitting position from lying in the lush green grass. Stars sparkled overhead and two moons illuminated the sky, drawing her attention. Her eyes averted from the moons, taking in her surroundings. There was nothing but a vast grass field—no trees, no humans, no animals, no roads. She climbed to her feet, turning in a full circle. The endless stretch of nothing but grass confirmed her assumption—there was absolutely nothing around. _

"_Why do you deny yourself?" a powerful voice growled out._

_Marielle immediately went on the defensive, ready for any attack that may come. Once again, she scanned the area and found no forms of life. A light breeze caressed her skin, carrying a light-hearted chuckle with it ._

"_Calm yourself, child. I do not wish to harm you," the same voice purred this time._

"_I am not a child! Who are you? Where are you?" _

_As if responding to her demand, a large pitch black wolf darker than the night shimmered into existence a few feet in front of her. On all fours it was at least twice Marielle's height. Its glowing blood red eyes regarded her with more intelligence than an animal should contain. Muscles rolled under the silky fur as it took a step toward her._

_Marielle jumped back, startled from the enormous size of the creature. "Stay away from me!" She put more distance between herself and the wolf, ready to turn and run should the need arise. It stopped its advance on her, and then showed two sharp rows of white fangs._

"_I shall ask again. Why do you deny yourself?" The wolf's jaw didn't move, but she could tell that the sound came from it. _

"_I don't know what you're talking about!" Marielle tried to look brave by the tone of her voice, when in reality, she felt anything but. Beside the wolf, a large black fountain made of marble appeared. Dark liquid spurted from the top and fell down into the larger bowl that made up the bottom. The sight and smell of the unknown liquid caused her stomach to cramp in an unbearable hunger, and she found her feet moving without conscious thought. Forming a cup with her hands, she plunged it into the warm liquid, bringing it to her mouth, letting the liquid slid down her throat. She almost closed her eyes from the ecstasy that the taste had provided as she went back for more. The taste was indescribable; all she could say was that it was the best thing that she had ever consumed. Before long, her arms and the front of her clothing were stained with the almost black substance, but she was finally satiated._

_Another chuckle brought her attention back to the wolf. "Ah, I can see that you are receiving some strength, good."_

_Warmness blanketed her body, and she looked down at her arms, gasping. Her unusually pale skin turned slightly rosy, and she felt more… alive. Her already superb abilities of sight, smell, and hearing increased by tenfold. She felt like a predator of the night, all raw power and senses. Despite feeling complete, an unknown yearning began to rise. Her confusion must have been evident on her face because the wolf started speaking again._

"_That is your lust for killing, it is insatiable. I can, however, appease it for you. Join my ranks, child, and reconnect with the darkness. It is waiting for you with open arms."_

_The liquid in the fountain and on her person turned into a crimson red._

Marielle woke, gasping for air. After taking a sufficient amount of time to calm herself, she turned the dream over in her head. What had it meant? Was it real or just a cruel joke of her imagination?

She froze in horror when she realized that there was another heartbeat aside from hers in the room. She clenched the dagger in her right hand tighter, scanning the semi dark room but finding no one. Just as she was starting to think that she was just being paranoid, a figure appeared next to the door. She hurriedly jumped out of bed so as not to get caught in a vulnerable position, crouching just opposite of him with her dagger readied. "Who are you, and why are you here?" she growled, and her burgundy eyes trained on the robed intruder.

"The Night Mother is correct—you are indeed a unique one."

**Chapter End**

I'm nervous about how this will be received. Please Review.


	2. Chapter 2

**Dark Obsession**

I am so sorry that it took so long to get this chapter out. I had it planned out since before I started the story, but I found myself unsatisfied with the content of it so many times that I kept deleting it and starting over because I would cheat myself or my readers with an inferior chapter.

On a different note, your reviews made me so happy! Every time a new review came in, I practically screamed and jumped around the whole room. Also, your alerts and favorites had the same effect. The next chapter will not take so long to get out, don't worry. I hope that you enjoy this chapter.

Disclaimer: I do not own Oblivion.

**Chapter Two**

Marielle studied the cloaked intruder with cautious eyes. Due to his attire, she could only make out his face. Her burgundy eyes connected with his brown ones and she shuddered. Those eyes held unhidden evil, and a fleeting thought that she should escape crossed her mind. The intensity of his gaze was enough to send a shiver up her spine, and it wasn't in a good way.

Gradually, the atmosphere changed, and it felt like every molecule of air was being sucked up and replaced by darkness. Despite her fear, the darkness felt like home, and she basked in it, accepting it with open arms.

Sadly, her moment of enjoying the darkness was short-lived. She hadn't forgotten about the uninvited male. He was either very brave or very stupid to break into her room, and he had yet to state his reasoning for his disturbing visit. "That answers neither of my questions." She glared at the imposter, tightening her grip on her dagger. Truth be told, she was using the dagger as more of a clutch to calm her fear of the male more so than a weapon. She was frozen in place with fear, but as long as she had some form of protection, she would be alright. When the stranger did nothing but stand there, she found the strength to change her positioning from defense to offense. Scared or not, she wouldn't die like a deer frozen at the sight of a lion. "Speak now or die."

"Your bloodlust is quite refreshing. And if you intend on killing me in a single, smooth motion, then you need to change your posture and reposition your grasp on the dagger. Unique as you may be, you're still inexperienced and will need much training. Nevertheless, your traits will help you a great deal."

First, an unknown male comes into her room, then gives her tips on how to properly attack him, and then insults her? Just who the hell did this guy think he was? Marielle resisted the urge to scowl at the stranger's cockiness, and she fixated her eyes on where his heart should be underneath his robe, listening to the rhythmic thumping in his chest. "Who are you?" She forced a composed tone and started to calculate an escape. If need be, she could push the intruder out of the way and hurry out of the door. She wasn't opposed to a fight, but she had a feeling that it wouldn't turn out in her favor should it come to one. Marielle couldn't place a finger on it, but she felt like there was something more to the stranger than he let on.

"I am Lucien Lachance. I am a representative of the Dark Brotherhood. My voice is the voice of the Black Hand, our organization's ruling body. One of my duties is to find exceptional individuals, such as myself, and offer a place within our family."

Marielle's right eye twitched. Was this some sort of joke? Was she supposed to know what any of his nonsense meant? A sigh escaped her lips. This was real fucking great. Some psycho breaks into her room to introduce himself and offer her a position into some type of cult, and then he acts like she was supposed to understand what he was talking about. "Am I supposed to know what that means?" She kept her dagger ready in case she would have to use it as a last resort.

Brown eyes flashed at her with a creepy type of amusement. She tried to take a step back as a precaution, but a gloved hand rose, stopping her action. "There is no need to fear me. As I've said before, I come as a messenger for the Dark Brotherhood. You see, the Night Mother has been watching you for quite some time, and she wishes for you to join her." Lazily, Lucien leaned his back against the door, crossing his arms.

Burgundy eyes watched the movement, noticing the power that was contained underneath his black robe. Yes, she would most definitely lose against him in a fight if the subtle flow of muscles was an indicator of any sorts. She shifted on her feet, cursing herself for showing signs of unease. While composing herself, she watched him like a predator would as it waited for its prey to make a wrong move. When he made none, she allowed his words to sink in, and she wondered who the Night Mother was. "Just what does this Night Mother person know of me? And you still have yet to tell me what the Dark Brotherhood is." Marielle's voice cracked at the end from using it so much—she hadn't spoken so much since she was a child.

"The Night Mother knows everything about you, Marielle Auline." Marielle's glare turned into a questioning one, causing what may have been a brief, humorless chuckle escape from Lucien's throat before he continued. "Have you not heard of the Dark Brotherhood? Of the remorseless guild of paid assassins and homicidal cutthroats? Join us, and you'll find the Dark Brotherhood to be all that, and so much more. We are, more than anything, a union of like-minded individuals. We kill for profit, for enjoyment, and for the glory of the Dread Father, Sithis. We are family, with bonds forged in blood and death."

Marielle's blood ran cold with fear. This guy could have been an Imperial guard, posing as an assassin to get her to confess to her father's death. And if that wasn't the case, then she was stuck in a room with a trained murderer. The thought of knowing that the guy before her could possibly kill her within the blink of an eye only served to enhance her fear. Still, she wasn't certain that this was the case, so she feigned a confused expression. "Why would a group of assassins look to recruit me?"

"Because, Marielle, you are a killer, and the Night Mother feels that you will be a great asset to our family."

Her eyes narrowed a small fraction at the revelation that someone had known her secret, and given that Lucien had mysteriously known about it caused her to be even more suspicious of him. She wasn't a fool, and she wouldn't walk into his potential trap. Still playing the confusion card, Marielle said, "I've never taken the life of another. You have me mistaken with someone else."

"The corpse of your father says otherwise. The Night Mother was rather impressed by how emotionless you were as you plunged the dagger into his throat." An eerie smile formed on his lips. "Having that type of mindset in the midst of taking one's life is a valued characteristic among assassins."

Mentally cursing, Marielle changed her confused expression to that of disgust, not wanting the potential Imperial guard to know that she had actually did away with her father. With her eyes fixed on the other male, she whispered, "That is beyond sick. Who would do something like that?"

Lucien's face darkened to a not so amused look. "You would have to be the first person to try to uphold this innocent façade for so long. If you fear that I am a guard, then don't be. I seek a different type of justice. Besides, if I were an officer, then wouldn't I have arrested your father for killing your mother?" Lucien forced a gentle tone to lure the girl in, even though he grew weary of her games.

A brief moment of shock passed through the Breton's eyes before she collected herself. Just how did this male know about what had occurred so many years ago? Along with that, how was she supposed to react now that his innocence was proven? Failing to come up with the answer, Marielle chose silence as she realized that she was actually trapped inside of a room with an assassin. She didn't know if it was fear or intelligence that held her tongue, but she would bet anything that it had something to do with the way that Lucien was looking at her.

"So, you've finally given up your argument?" Lucien paused, waiting with waning patience for a reply. When none came, he said, "On the Green Road to the north of Bravil lies the Inn of Ill Omen. There you will find a man named Rufio. Kill him, and your initiation into the Dark Brotherhood will be complete. Do this, and the next time you sleep in a location I deem secure, I will reveal myself once more, bearing the love of your new family."

The Breton girl found her voice, saying, "And if I say that I'm not interested in joining a group of assassins?" Marielle had a brief thought that maybe it wasn't a good idea to be rejecting an assassin, but she couldn't shake her uneasiness of people so easily that she would willingly associate herself with a group of them.

Brown eyes regarded the woman for a moment, assessing the emotions that were subtly made known through her eyes. "That is your decision alone to make, but it may be in your best interest considering that you no longer have a place to live. If you join our family, you will have septims, shelter, and so much more."

"And if I still choose to reject?" The offer sounded too good to be true to Marielle. There had to have been some hidden type of motive.

"Once again, it is entirely up to you. Allow me to grant you a gift, in case you reconsider." Lucien reached into his robe, slowly pulling out an ebony dagger so that he wouldn't startle Marielle. She watched the weapon suspiciously, showing no signs of moving from her spot, so he gently sat it on her robe that rested on the chest at the end of the bed. "It is a virgin blade, and thirsts for blood. May it serve you well. Now, I bid you farewell. I do hope we'll meet again soon."

Marielle watched silently as the man before her cast a chameleon spell, causing him to disappear from sight. Just as she was about to cast a life detect spell to counter any attack that may come at her, the door opened and closed, indicating that Lucien had left her presence. It wasn't until the man was long gone that she realized that there was a void in the atmosphere. It didn't take her long to come to the conclusion that the void was the absence of the darkness that emanated from the assassin.

Trying to assure herself that the male was gone, Marielle reached out to make sure that the door was locked, pausing when she saw her hand shaking slightly. Was she really so afraid of Lucien? She placed her hand against her chest, feeling that her heart was also beating faster than usual—not so much to feel like it was trying to jump out of her chest and run, but it was faster than its usual lazy pace. Twice in a short period of time, she was frightened—the dream being the other cause of fear. It had been so long that she was actually afraid that the feeling was foreign to her. In a world where she thought that she couldn't be fazed, she was proven wrong, and she was terrified of being this vulnerable. It felt like everything that she had worked so hard to build up was crumbling down before her.

She raked a hand through her ruby hair out of irritation, cursing a few times at the fact that she had forgotten to braid it before she went to sleep. Gladly accepting the temporary distraction that came with doing her hair, she hassled with the tangles, binding it with a leather strap into a low ponytail. It wasn't perfect, but it did accomplish her task of calming her fear.

Knowing that she couldn't postpone it any longer, she turned to her robe to observe the dagger that lay upon it. Although she wasn't trusting of the gift that Lucien had bestowed upon her, the blade seemed to beckon to her, calling out in a silent plea to be held. Without so much as a thought, she placed her iron dagger on the bed and grabbed at the ebony one, reveling in how the coolness of it felt against her hand. It felt like it was made for her, weightlessly fitting into her palm, merging with her, becoming an extension of her body. She tested the blade, swinging it in the air a few times to see how marvelous that it was. She knew then that she would keep the blade without a doubt, and she felt a little more secure with the added protection.

While preoccupying herself with the blade, Marielle thought of the invitation that she had received. It was given without pressure, allowing her the opportunity to choose whether she wanted to make an occupation out of killing or not. It was odd, the fact that there wasn't any pressure on Lucien's behalf made the invite seem that much more irresistible. Sadly, she couldn't accept it. Even if she could tolerate the other assassins, she still wouldn't accept the offer. It wasn't because she wasn't a killer—she had enjoyed the art of taking life—but because she had absolutely no skills. Yes, she had killed her father easily enough, but he was asleep and drunken. She didn't know how to properly wield a blade, and aside from stealth, superb senses, and lock picking, she had nothing going for her. The only spells that she knew were life detect and dispel. She didn't even know how to use a simple restoration spell. Nobody could use someone as worthless as her.

With a heavy sigh, she took a seat on the bed, placing the ebony dagger next to her iron one. Something from one of the pockets on her pants dug into her side, causing her to investigate. It was then that she discovered her mother's diary, thus remembering her current task. For a time, she remembered that she had a purpose, but what would she do after she fulfilled her mother's wishes? After caressing the leather cover, her torrent of thoughts quelled somewhat. Worrying about trivial things didn't matter. She would figure out what to do when the time came.

Marielle placed both daggers on her person and pocketed the diary. She put on her robe and sandals, knowing that she had a long journey ahead of her. And from the way that her body was acting, the sun was setting.

When she was sure that she was prepared, she left the room, closing the door behind her. Midstride, she stopped and scowled at the smell of cooking meat. Didn't that creeper have better things to do than to sit on the stairs and cook? Reluctantly, she proceeded down the hall and walked down the few steps, sparing the male Breton a side glance of hostility as she passed him.

"Wait," he called out to her back when she was a few feet away from him.

Despite her better judgment and slight aggravation, she paused. Nobody could be worse than that Lucien guy, right?

"Is your name Amarie?"

"No, why do you ask?" Marielle turned her burgundy eyes onto the Breton with a slight scowl. Just what was this guy talking about?

"You look just like someone that I used to know a long time ago."

Marielle nonchalantly shrugged, dismissing the conversation. It wasn't worth her time. She then proceeded to turn the corner, walking up to the innkeeper's counter. Without making eye contact, she placed her room key within the innkeeper's reach.

"I hope that you slept well," the Altmer behind the counter said with a pleasant smile.

Marielle glanced around the inn, sighting a couple of guards before turning her attention back to the taller woman. "Do you know how I can get to Bravil?" She nibbled on her lip nervously. When the innkeeper looked at her with a funny look in her eyes, Marielle stopped and regained her impassiveness.

The innkeeper's expression then turned into a shocked one. "You don't mean to say that you're going to travel at this time? It's nearly dark out, it isn't safe for anyone to travel the roads at night, much less for a young woman like yourself."

"I'll manage." Bandits and wild animals were hardly the thing that Marielle feared. Although she had never travelled before, she still didn't find the idea of them being a danger to her. No, she wasn't skilled, but if need be, she was sure that she could defend herself, if not, she could always run away.

"Well, if you insist. When you leave here, turn right, and then take the first road on the left. Follow that road until you come to a fork after the old bridge. Take the right in that fork and you will be on the Green Road, it should take you all the way to Bravil. If you travel nonstop, then you should get there in half of a day."

Marielle nodded, memorizing the directions as she headed toward the door. With a deep breath of preparation, she forced the barrier that separated her from the outside world open. The last rays of the setting sun immediately licked over her skin, causing her amulet to make its presence known with a drapery of magic covering her skin. Her eyes found the angry ball in the sky, and she wondered how people could possibly find it beautiful. The orange color that it had painted the horizon was too bright and too happy looking for her liking.

With her right hand hidden within her robe and on her iron dagger, she walked to the road that she was supposed to take. Without wanting to waste precious time, she assumed a brisk stride, keeping her eyes straight.

0-0

Several ruins, forts, settlements, and bridges later, Marielle found herself staring at the Inn of Ill Omen. She hadn't meant to come here, it just so happened to be on the way to Bravil. Hell, she didn't even want to join the Dark Brotherhood, so why was she hesitating outside of this building? She guessed that the time for postponing her problems had come to an end, and some logical part of her mind was screaming at her to consider the pros and cons of joining the assassin's guild. Begrudgingly, she listened. If she did kill Rufio, then she would join a group of assassins. If she didn't kill Rufio, then she wouldn't have a place to live. When she thought about it like that, what choice did she have? The septims that she had obtained from her mother wasn't enough to sustain her for long, and after they were gone, she would have to resort to assuming the occupation of being a thief to get by. She frowned at the thought of living on the streets, having to steal from people to survive. That left her with two options—she could join the Dark Brotherhood, or she could walk away and pretend that they didn't exist.

She… glanced at the inn, and cast her detect life spell, analyzing the occupants of the rundown building. There were two people inside and one seemed to be underground. Without wanting to waste the little magicka that she had, she used dispel, returning her sight to normal. It was then that she actually paid attention to how raggedy the building was. It seemed so fragile that she feared that it might come down on her head should she open the door too harshly. Unwilling to test her theory, she opened the door gently, stepping into the foul smell of mold and decaying wood.

A Nord behind the counter yelled in surprise, "Well I be a spotted snow bear, a customer!"

Marielle flinched from having her sensitive hearing assaulted by the large male and closed the door behind her. When the ringing sound left her ears, she picked up the sound of the innkeeper's heartbeat, and her mouth salivated. Brushing the weird reaction aside, she kept her eyes on the large male as she walked up to the counter with a slow gait. Every step made her feel smaller as the Nord appeared to grow in mass. She stopped a few feet away from the counter, contemplating how she would go about killing Rufio without attracting unwanted attention. Playing the harmless customer role seemed good enough, but she didn't want to stay longer than she needed. At a loss of what to do next, Marielle nibbled on her bottom lip.

Seeing her hesitation, the innkeeper said, "We got plenty of rooms if you want one. Ain't nobody here 'cept old Rufio."

The Breton glanced at the Nord at the mentioning of Rufio's name. Would it be suspicious if she inquired about her target? After figuring that it couldn't hurt since the innkeeper had brought Rufio up, she stopped chewing on her lip and asked, "Who is Rufio?"

"Rufio? He's an old codger. Been living here for a couple of weeks now. If you ask me, he's hiding from something. But what do I care? He pays his tab. His room is downstairs, in what I like to call the Private Quarters. Use that hatch in the floor over there. But don't expect a warm reception."

So she had the information that she needed. Now, all that she needed was a plan to carry out her task without appearing to be suspicious. What are other reasons that people went to inns other than to sleep? Upon pondering on the thought, Marielle came up with an answer. "Do you have any food?" Hopefully, if she waited around long enough, the innkeeper would dose off, leaving her unattended to sneak into Rufio's room.

"Sure do. Would you like bread, cheese, apples, or all three? And would you like something to drink with that?"

"An apple would do just fine, and no, I've recently had some water." Marielle dug out ten septims and sat them on the counter just as the innkeeper sat a large red apple on the counter.

The innkeeper looked at the septims for a while before pushing it toward Marielle. "I wouldn't feel right charging you a room price for an apple."

Shrugging, she grabbed the apple—leaving the septims—and turned to go sit at a table. She discreetly sniffed at the apple a few times to make sure that it wasn't tainted. When she was sure that it wasn't, she took a small bite out of it. It tasted horrible, like always, but she continued to eat it at a leisurely pace until it was eaten to the core. Even though it would hold her over for a while, she couldn't help the fact that the rhythmic beating of the innkeeper's heart caused a different hunger to arise—one that she wasn't sure how to sate.

0-0

The deep, even rush of air that exhaled from the Nord was the sign that Marielle had been waiting for. It had taken the man over five hours to fall asleep, and the Breton had grown quite irate over the time because he kept trying to start a conversation with her—which she still had problems with. Also, she was anxious to get to Bravil, and she had felt like she had wasted precious time.

After taking one glance at the man who had fallen asleep slumped over the counter, she eased out of the chair that she was sitting in. Quietly, she made her way over to the trap door, silently praying that it didn't make any noise. The time that it took to lift the door seemed like hours, though, Marielle knew that it was merely seconds. With that task accomplished, she stole another glance at the Nord before lowering herself onto the ladder. She reached up with one hand, grabbing the trap door, closing it above her.

When noticing that the floor underneath her was stone, Marielle released the ladder and dropped onto the floor, landing in a crouching position. Upon turning around, she noticed that there were two doors on the left side, so she activated her detect life spell. There was someone in the other room farthest from her, and figuring that it was Rufio, she went to that one while dispelling the life detect. When she placed her hand on the handle, she discovered that it wasn't locked, and she froze in place.

Taking someone else's life would mean four things—she was a killer, she could kill without the fuel of hatred driving her, she didn't care about other people's life, and she would obtain a home. She realized that feeling remorseful wasn't on the list. Now, she was sure that 'regular' people would feel regret for killing another, but she wasn't regular. With so many pros to killing this one old man, she wondered why she was hesitating. Was she afraid? No, she had enjoyed killing her father too much. Maybe she doubted her abilities of taking the life. And maybe she was just stalling and wasting time that she couldn't afford to lose because she knew that her life would change once she killed Rufio.

With a breath to suppress her rising apprehension, she opened the door, revealing a sleeping Breton in the bed. Her heartbeat quickened as she stepped inside of the semi dark room—whether it was adrenaline or fear, she didn't know. To reduce the noise level, she silently closed the door and stalked over to the still figure.

His strong heartbeat drummed in her ears, and she paused as a feral type of feeling came over her. No longer was she the nervous girl who had mental arguments with herself about the decision of what to do. No, she had turned into something different, transforming into a killer. She wanted to see his blood spill out of him as he begged for mercy, and her stomach clenched in anticipation. Originally, she was planning on chocking him to death to make it look like a natural death, but her bloodlust couldn't handle the bloodless death. Besides, the ebony dagger at her side practically screamed for fresh blood. In one swift motion, she removed the blade from its concealment under her robe, and they became one.

Before she could reconsider her decision, she found herself lodging the dagger into the man's chest, snapping his chest cavity with a sickly popping sound. She heard the black blade pierce his heart, and she quickly removed it, reveling in the sound of the blood escaping through the unnatural hole that she had created. Rufio's eyes opened in shock and his mouth opened, but no sound came out.

The erratic beating of his heart ceased, signaling that the old man had passed, and she found herself mesmerized with the way that the sheets were soaking with the crimson liquid. Her mouth salivated and the aroma wafted up to her nose, tempting her to take a taste. Like before, her teeth ached and her stomach clenched painfully. She leaned in close, and then abruptly stopped due to her logical mind screaming at her. Slightly perturbed about what she was about to do, Marielle stood up straight, choosing to distract herself by the thrill of taking another's life. The rush that came with it was unmatched, and she found herself smiling down at her handy work. It wasn't as gruesome as she would have liked, but it would do.

After circling and viewing the bloodied corpse for several minutes, the thrill died down, and a rational thought forced its way to her. She had to get out of here, quick. There was no way that a stab wound to the chest could be overlooked as an accident. To make matters worse, the Nord upstairs had known that she was at the inn at the approximate time of Rufio's death. If the man upstairs woke up, she would be in deep trouble.

She went to wipe the blade on the covers and paused. Her eyes widened as she watched the ebony dagger absorb the blood. It glowed briefly with a dark light before returning to normal. Did Lucien give her a demonic blade? Whatever it was, she would figure it out later. Marielle withdrew the dagger back into her robe and secured it on her side with the other one before leaving the room, closing the door behind her.

Taking the same precautions as she had to get down to the basement, Marielle snuck back upstairs, keeping an ear out for any changings in the Nord's breathing. When she had successfully made it to the door, she opened it just enough to slip through the crack and escaped.

Marielle was too preoccupied with the task of killing Rufio that she failed to pay attention to her body's warning signs of it being light out. It wasn't until she felt magic encase her and she almost slammed her back into the inn door that she realized that it was bright outside. Although the sun didn't make her eyes water along with itchy and uncomfortable skin, plus the occasional reddening—thanks to the amulet—she would have still liked to have known that it was light out before she had left the inn. Just as the thought crossed her mind, lethargy hit her like a ton of stones. Lucky for her, she could still continue on her travels, she just wouldn't be as energetic. Besides, even if she did want to go to sleep, she didn't think that she could—the nightmare from last night still had her on edge, and she didn't think that she was ready to face Lucien again just yet.

When she stepped out onto the road, Marielle stopped. She had just fulfilled her initiation into the Dark Brotherhood. There was no way to reverse time should she come to regret her decision. In just a few moments, she had taken her life into her own hands and made an important choice. The tips of her lips twitched ever so slightly. It felt good to actually experience her independence rather than merely holding the knowledge that her father wasn't alive to control her. She held the quill to her life's story now and there was nothing that anyone could do to take it from her.

0-0

Marielle had been walking for well over an hour without incident, and she had forced herself to not think about anything—no killing her father, no mother's diary, no wolf talking to her in a dream, no Lucien, no fear, no killing Rufio, nothing. That was until she stopped to observe a family of deer leaping across the road. They seemed so peaceful and serene, and when she had thought about it, they were the first form of wildlife that she had seen this entire journey. She watched silently as they crossed and even stared long after the deer were gone. How could they be so tranquil when her life had always been the complete opposite? It was anything but fair.

Upon realizing that she was envious of some deer, Marielle continued on her way. About ten more minutes had passed, and a sense of dread overcame her. It was almost like she didn't want to go to Bravil. But that was nonsense because she definitely wanted to go. It wasn't until each step became harder to take that she became annoyed with herself. What was going on?

Suddenly, a dark presence came upon her, causing her to shudder. At first she thought that it was Lucien, but after analyzing the magnitude of evil that it contained, she knew that it wasn't him. The darkness wasn't human—it belonged to something else entirely.

"_Why did you deny yourself?"_

Marielle's eyes widened, and she stopped walking. She knew that voice. Then again, how could she forget it when it was the very one that was in her dream? "What?" she whispered, knowing that whoever it was could hear her.

"_You refused to take everything that you could from Rufio. I will ask again, why did you deny yourself?"_

To say that Marielle was scared would be an understatement. How was that thing able to contact her while she was conscious? She had assumed that it was just her twisted imagination that put it in her dreams, but she had thought wrong. It didn't make sense. "I don't know what you're talking about. Why are you bothering me?"

"_You know that you don't really want to go to Bravil. Travel into the trees that are east of this road, there you will be able to join my ranks. Reconnect with the darkness."_

She looked to her right, and for a moment, she found herself changing her route. Sluggishly, she dragged one foot in front of the other. She had to follow the voice, she had to join it. The snapping of a twig under her right foot stopped her advancement, snatching her out of her stupor. What in oblivion was she doing? She didn't want to join the unknown entity.

"_Surrender unto me."_

"Leave me be!" the Breton yelled as she backpedaled to the road. Once her feet were on leveled ground, she broke into a run toward Bravil. Following her was a mocking laughter that was a little more than just unnerving.

"_I was trying to be generous, letting you come to me willingly, but I suppose that I have to use drastic measures. If you remember nothing else, then remember that your life belonged to me long before you were ever born, child."_

Too concerned with trying to escape, Marielle failed to answer. Her mind was clouded with fear, and she couldn't ignore the feeling that she was being watched by the very evil that she was trying to flee from. She felt trapped, like there wasn't any escape. The thought almost suffocated her, and she felt like she couldn't withstand it. Determined, she pushed her legs faster, only stopping several minutes later when she didn't feel the evil presence anymore.

Too frightened and filled with adrenaline to rest, she continued on her way in a hurried walk. Strangely, her lungs didn't burn, but her heart was trying to break free of her chest—a feat that had never been accomplished.

Paranoid eyes flickered over the surrounding landscape, searching for a large, black wolf to jump out and claim her body in its jaws. After some time without it happening, Marielle forced herself to calm down, convincing herself that it was all just an illusion. She was just losing what little piece of her mind that she had left, that's all.

It took some time, but she had effectively convinced herself that she was just hallucinating, and she was able to concentrate on her mission again. That was until she came across a guard on the road. It wouldn't have bothered her one bit, except he wasn't on his horse that stood nearby, and he was fighting a wolf. Her fear in the large black wolf resurfaced tenfold, and she was just about to turn tail and run, but something—perhaps fear—held her in place. Her eyes refused to tear themselves from the small gray and white animal with golden eyes. She forced herself to see the logic that the wolf wasn't big, and there was no possible way that it could have been the one that kept contacting her.

Trying to reassure herself, she forced her feet to continue forward—even if it was a gradual inch by inch. When she was within forty feet of the fight, the wolf abruptly stopped its attacks toward the guard and looked her in the eye. It scented the air a couple of times, then ran off into the woods, leaving a very confused guard behind. The aforementioned guard then turned to her with a bewildered look. After some time of staring and trying to figure out what just happened, he sheathed his sword and took a few steps to Marielle. "It's quite dangerous out here. I'd suggest that a young girl like you don't travel alone. These roads are filled with wild animals that wouldn't hesitate to enjoy something like you for a snack. Not to mention that there are bandits and highwaymen hanging around."

Marielle swallowed hard. She checked to make sure that the wolf was gone before responding to the male. "Spare me your lecture. In my hours of traveling, I've only seen some deer in the distance. That wolf was the first dangerous thing that I've seen, so your worry is wasted." She prayed that the male didn't respond. She was tired of everyone wanting to talk to her.

"Still, would you like a ride to Bravil?"

With a shake of her head, Marielle declined. She had already had enough contact with people as it was.

"I can't save the ones that don't want to be saved." The guard turned and mounted his horse before riding off toward Bravil.

"I'm damned, not unwilling to be saved. The unwilling can be saved, but the damned are lost forever," Marielle whispered to no one in particular. Her words were soon lost to the wind that sent them off into the distance.

**Chapter End**

I hope that you've enjoyed this chapter! Hopefully you will be so kind as to review. Reviews fuel my motivation to write despite having to go to a college that tries to swamp me in homework.


	3. Chapter 3

**Dark Obsession**

Well, I can say that I got this chapter out faster than chapter two. It would have come out sooner, but midterms are evil! Anyways, thanks for all of your wonderful and encouraging reviews, they gave me the motivation to work around the midterms. I love all of you so much that I typed the longest chapter of my life, so grab a drink and something to snack on. Without further ado, let the chapter begin!

Disclaimer: I do not own Oblivion. Seriously, now, let the chapter begin.

**Chapter Three**

The remainder of the journey to Bravil was uneventful, that is, if Marielle excluded the rude Khajiit that she had passed on the bridge that led to the city's doors. The overgrown fur ball had claimed to be the count's steward or something like that—Marielle had lost interest within the first sentence.

Once the Breton was inside of the city, she almost recoiled from the stench. The city reeked of disease and filth. Really, who would want to stay in a place like this? A quick glance of her surroundings had Marielle scowling. The place didn't look too grand, either, because of the fact that everything that she could see was made of wood. It was a big downgrade from Imperial city, that's for sure.

Her thoughts were interrupted when a scraggly Imperial approached her, and judging from the way that the woman's scent differed from other humanoids, she was diseased. Marielle shot the old woman an unfriendly look, hoping to intimidate her. Sadly, her plan didn't work out too well, and the woman continued her advancement. The Breton's hand stroked her daggers that were hidden under her robe for comfort, and she took a defensive step back.

"Can ye spare a coin? I haven't eaten in days." The old woman held her hands out, hoping for some money.

Burgundy eyes regarded the old lady for some time. If Lucien hadn't offered her a place to stay, would she have eventually ended up like this old woman—diseased and homeless? She almost shuddered at the thought of being like the fragile woman in front of her. It was a real pity. Without thinking, she reached into her coin pouch and withdrew some septims, dropping them into the woman's outstretched hands carefully to avoid physical contact. It was ironic how she could take a man's life moments before giving a woman some money to survive. Perhaps she was more twisted in the head than she had originally thought.

"Thank you kind lady!" The beggar's eyes lit up with appreciation. "Blessings of Akatosh upon ye."

Nodding, Marielle started to head around the beggar before stopping short. She didn't have the faintest clue where the statue would be located, and she would be damned if she wandered around this foreign city without any leads. "Do you know where the Lucky Old Lady is?"

A brittle finger pointed to the right. "If you go toward the chapel, then you will see the Lucky Old Lady in front of it."

Without another word, Marielle went on her way. For some reason, she felt like she was being watched. A glance around informed her that nobody was in the vicinity, but she still couldn't shake the feeling. Perhaps she was just being paranoid.

All too soon, she was standing in front of the chapel, and following the beggar's directions, she easily found the Lucky Old Lady. She walked around to the front of the statue, keeping a safe distance despite having the urge to want to get closer.

While putting her hand on her mother's concealed diary, she closed her eyes. This was it. This was what her mother wanted her to do. And after completing her mother's task, then her life would be one of a devoted assassin. She sighed. Where had the time gone?

Unhurriedly, Marielle opened her eyes and gazed upon the statue. The woman on it was leaning against a large stalk with her right elbow, and her left arm was outstretched, inviting people to come to her. Three babies were at her feet, trying to climb and reach her.

Intrigued by the beauty of the statue, she slowly approached, stopping mere inches in front of it. A shaky hand of uncertainty reached up to lay on the cool surface of the statue. Immediately, a slight tingle of power rushed from the statue and flooded into the Breton's body. Marielle couldn't describe the feeling, but it wasn't uncomfortable—that is if she ignored the way that the right side of her hip started to burn. Suddenly, a sense of vertigo hit her, and the world around her started to spin.

_She was running, afraid for her unborn child. Someone wanted her baby, and she couldn't allow that. With great agility, she tore through the streets of Bravil to get to the Lucky Old Lady. Her child would be safe once she made it there. _

_Disregarding the strange looks from the natives, she bypassed the two stone babies at the statue's right side and practically threw herself upon it. Many didn't know this, but she knew that the statue was more than what it seemed._

"_Please, I beg of you! Please allow my child to be free from that monster's grasp!" she pleaded, looking up at the stone face. After some time of silence, she heard a response._

"If I do so, then I will want your child's life for my own purpose,"_ an otherworldly voice echoed from the statue. _

_She knew this, and although she didn't particularly like it, anything was better than the demon she had already made a pact with. "As long as she lives…."_

"Then it shall be done."

"_Thank you, mother."_

A gasp came from Marielle's lips. She didn't know what she had just seen, but it felt like a case of déjà vu. It was almost like she was reliving a past experience, but she knew that she had never been to Bravil before. Nothing made sense, then again, when did anything ever make sense? Oblivious to the fact that she was holding her breath, she forced out a large gust of air, storing the experience in the back of her mind for further inspection at a later time—she could not allow it to defer her from her current task.

When she had composed herself, she whispered, "Mother, what now? I came to the Lucky Old Lady like you said." After some time of waiting for something extraordinary to occur, a sigh left Marielle's lips when nothing happened. Just when she was about to leave the statue, a feeling of warmth seeped into her veins. At first she thought that it was a sign from her mother that she had finished her mission, but it didn't feel like she had accomplished anything. To be precise, it felt like the type of warmth that she experienced as a child every time her mother embraced her, except it didn't belong to her biological mother. Nevertheless, she basked in the feeling with an unwillingness to part from it based solely on the fact that she had been denied a mother's love for so long.

When others began to start their days and travel around the statue, Marielle begrudgingly separated from it, deciding to find shelter. Judging from the position of the sun, it was a little before noon, and the lethargy from it was starting to take a toll on her. Hesitantly, she took a few steps away from the statue, taking one last glance at the three babies. Somehow, she was certain that one of the babies wasn't in her vision—the one climbing the stalk to be specific. With a shrug, she headed to the inn that she had glimpsed upon entering the city.

All too happy to be away from the sun, Marielle hurriedly proceeded into the inn when she reached it. To her relief, the feeling of being watched dissipated as soon as the inn's door closed behind her.

"Gilgondorin. Silverhome on the Water has beds and food. What's your pleasure?" the Altmer behind the desk asked.

With a sigh, Marielle walked up to the desk, trying her best to ignore the various occupants and scents of the inn. It smelled like human filth, but she wouldn't complain—it did smell better than the Inn of Ill Omen. When she reached the desk, she tried her best not to fidget under the taller male's gaze. Avoiding having to look at the innkeeper by averting her eyes to the counter, Marielle said, "I just want a room."

"There's a room free, all right. Best you'll find in Bravil, if I do say so. Twenty gold, and it's yours for the night."

Hiding her displeasure at the pricey amount, Marielle complied by placing the septims on the counter in exchange for the room key. For twenty gold, the room had better be grand.

"You'll have to go upstairs to the second floor. Your room is the second door on the right before the staircase. Thank you for your patronage."

Purposely neglecting to thank Gilgondorin, the Breton turned and went up the stairs. A barely noticeable smirk instantly found its way on her face when she walked into door leading away from the lobby of the inn. The hallway was dark—much to her pleasure—and she hoped that her room would be the same way. Effectively maneuvering away from the table and the chair on the right, she went straight to her assigned room and opened it with the key.

The amount of sunlight that filtered through the window and hit Marielle was enough to make her reconsider staying at this inn. However, knowing that the possibility of easily finding another place to sleep was low, Marielle erased the thought of leaving because she was tired. With a defeated sigh, she trudged in, shutting the door behind her.

The stench of uncleanliness hit her nose, and she turned her burgundy eyes to the bed in the corner. It was horrid looking, and unable to vision herself sleeping on it, Marielle decided that the floor would do just fine. With that resolution, she glared back at the window and wondered what she could do to block out the sun. Quick thinking had her taking off her robe and draping it over the exposed window, effectively darkening the room a considerable amount. The room wasn't so dark that visibility was impossible without the use of a candle, but it was dark enough for Marielle. Perhaps she could finally get some sleep now. With a yawn, she sat in the corner next to the bed and pulled her knees up to her chin, careful to avoid aggravating her still aching hip. Within moments, sleep overtook her.

0-0

"Interesting. Rufio lies dead by you not even a full day after you so persistently expressed your unwillingness to join our group of assassins."

Instinctively, Marielle hurled her iron dagger at the voice before her mind could comprehend that it was Lucien. The sound of daggers clashing reached her ears, and thinking that she was under attack with her groggy mind, she reacted by throwing her ebony dagger, too. Just like before, the sound of blades colliding reached her ears. While attempting to allow her eyes time to adjust, her back was slammed against the wall by the force of another body. Following the feeling of having a dagger pressed to her throat was a deep, velvet voice.

"You will contain yourself. I regarded the first dagger being thrown as one of your instincts to waking up to someone in your room, but the second was clearly on purpose." Lucien's dark voice entered her right ear, tickling it with his warm breath. If she wasn't mere seconds away from death, Marielle would have shivered from the malice laced into his voice. She would have also been a little more than highly uncomfortable by the knowledge of being trapped against the wall by Lucien's body. However, any chance of being in her correct mindset flew out of the window because of the dagger to her neck. Hardy or not, she knew when she had lost the battle, and she wasn't about to test the Imperial's patience. "You will not be so foolish as to attack me again. Are we clear?" Pressure was applied on the dagger at her neck for good measure.

Not wanting to slit her own throat by nodding, Marielle choked out a yes, avoiding the piercing brown gaze that she knew was looking down at her. When the cool metal was removed from her neck, she let out a shaky breath of relief. Greedily, she inhaled a large amount of air to assure herself that she was alive, and the scent of wild berries invaded her nose. The scent was intoxicating, and the intensity of it almost ridded her mind of all logical thoughts. It was then that her fear of having physical contact reemerged, and her body stiffened. Before she made a fool of herself and started trembling, Lucien moved some distance away.

When the male had put enough space between them, Marielle became enraged. She was angry at him for not giving her some type of warning before entering her room, but most of all, she was mad at herself. Not only had she forgotten that the male was supposed to visit her again, but she had also allowed her exhaustion to bring down her barriers, allowing him to sneak up on her while she slept. Such a thing could have cost her her life, and it almost did when she blindly attacked him, unknowingly putting herself in the position to learn another reason to fear the male before her—and she detested things that she feared.

Willing herself to not be a submissive puppy like most would in the midst of fear, Marielle looked into the malicious brown eyes across the room, and she shuddered. On the outside, Lucien appeared calm like he hadn't just tried to kill her, but his eyes told a different story. Deep inside of them, a vast amount of darkness swirled malevolently. It was then that the Breton realized that the atmosphere in the room had been consumed by the darkness permeating from Lucien, and she was slightly comforted by it despite the situation at hand. Unlike the black wolf's dark aura, this darkness was welcomed and not at all uncomfortable. The holder of the darkness, however, was a different story. It was odd how she wanted nothing more than to put distance between Lucien and herself, but at the same time, she wanted to keep the atmosphere that followed him for herself.

"What now, Lachance?" Marielle made sure that the male would know her irritation and distrust of him, disregarding the fact that he was the last person that she should be disrespecting. Her motive was to at least put up the front that she wasn't terrified of him.

Marielle's choice of words and tone of voice caused Lucien's eyes to glitter dangerously although he showed no physical signs of displeasure. Marielle saw this look and tried to hide the way that she slightly squirmed, remembering all too well the feeling of having a blade against her throat.

"You are now part of the family," Lucien said, pausing when he noticed the way that Marielle visibly cringed when he said family. A questioning gaze entered his brown eyes, and he waited for an explanation.

Knowing why the Imperial paused, Marielle narrowed her gaze—she didn't feel like talking more than she had to. However, taking into consideration that it wouldn't be wise to deny Lucien what he wanted, she gave in—she refused to admit that it was out of fear. "I don't want a family."

A smirk found its way to Lucien's lips. "I find it hard to believe that one who recently plunged a dagger into a man's heart and then admired her handiwork would find something as trivial as having a family intimidating."

Unintentionally stepping to the left to put some form of distance between herself and Lucien, Marielle replied, "I'm not intimidated, Lachance." To be honest, she was more than a little terrified of having a family. She grew up without having one, and she was content with it. Sure, she wanted a bigger one when she was little, but after her mother's demise, she threw those dreams to the wind. Not only had she become uncomfortable in another's presence due to her years of isolation, but she also didn't want anyone to become even remotely close to her—she didn't want any forms of attachment.

Knowing that she was lying, but unwilling to pry, Lucien continued as if they hadn't got sidetracked. "The slaying of Rufio was the signing of a covenant. The manner of execution, your signature. Rufio's blood, the ink. As a Speaker of the Black Hand, I directly oversee a particular group of family members. You will join that group, and fulfill any contracts given. You must now go to the city of Cheydinhal, to the abandoned house near the eastern wall. Enter the basement, and attempt to open the black door. You will be asked a question. Answer thusly: 'Sanguine, my Brother.' You will gain entrance to the Sanctuary. Once inside, speak with Ocheeva."

In spite of her negative attitude about the whole situation, Marielle listened attentively, memorizing everything that Lucien had said. "And how do I get to Cheydinhal?" She might as well get all the information that she needed considering that she had long ago passed the road of turning back.

"Your inquisitive nature is a good thing. You will take the Green Road back toward Imperial. When you reach the Red Ring Road at the end of the Green Road, you will take a right and continue on it until you reach the Blue Road. The Blue Road will take you straight to Cheydinhal."

"I have to go back on the Green Road?" Surely there had to be another way. Marielle absolutely wanted to avoid another replay of the black wolf contacting her on the Green Road. The thought alone caused the hair on the back of her neck stand.

Lucien didn't miss the change in the Breton's disposition. Her hardiness had disintegrated, and little did she know, her emotions were laid out on display. "Is there an issue with the route that I gave you?" As soon as the question left his lips, Marielle covered up her vulnerability with anger.

"What? No," the Breton all but growled out. She narrowed her eyes at Lucien. She had been in his presence for too long, and she didn't know how much longer she could withstand it without completely losing her false calm. He was dangerous, and the way that his eyes stayed on her made her uneasy, so the sooner that he left, the better.

"I see," he replied flatly. "We must now take our leave of each other, you and I, for there is much work to be done. I'll be following... your progress. Welcome to the family." He turned to leave, pausing halfway before turning back to her. "And you will not disrespect me again. I have little tolerance for such things." He kneeled on the ground to pick something up. No more than a second later, Marielle's blades implanted into the wall less than an inch beside her head on both sides. "Your daggers."

Not too amused with having two deadly weapons hurled at her head, Marielle yelled, "Have you lost your fucking mind?" Quickly realizing her mistake because of the pointed look that she received from the Speaker, she shut her mouth.

"You will learn to watch your tongue. There are others who are not as magnanimous as myself, and you will find yourself severely injured or dead." Replacing his menacing expression with an almost pleasant one, Lucien said, "We shall meet again." On that note, he cast a chameleon spell and left the room.

Marielle held still for far longer than she needed to after the Speaker's departure due to her fear breaking through her barriers and amplifying by the thousands. It was something about watching daggers came toward her face at full speed that had the effect of imbedding unmatched fear in her heart. Lucien had officially ranked above the black wolf on her list of horrors. And to think that getting a blade put to her throat and being used as target practice was Lucien being magnanimous. She would hate to see him when he wasn't being so generous. To make matters worse, he had said that there were others who were worse than him. What had she gotten herself into?

When Marielle was sure that her legs wouldn't give out on her should she move from the wall, she took an experimental step forward. Luckily, she stayed upright, but luck wasn't enough to keep her legs from shaking uncontrollably. She was just barely able to collect her daggers from the wall and her robe from hanging on the window without collapsing into a pathetic heap on floor, but she couldn't stop to fully regain herself because she wanted to get away from this place as soon as possible. Her fear gave her the illusion that the walls were closing in on her.

Swiftly pulling on her robe, she left the room and headed down to the lobby of the inn. When she reached the innkeeper's counter, she all but threw the key at him and left before anyone could question her actions.

Never before had Marielle been so happy to see the outside world that consisted of dark gray skies. Her celebration was short-lived, though, thanks to an impulse to visit the Lucky Old Lady again. The desire to visit the statue overrode her fear, momentarily making her forget the Lucien incident.

Without much thought, she found her feet moving in the general direction of the landmark. It wasn't until she rounded the corner of a house that she seen a Bosmer standing in front of the Lucky Old Lady. Had it not been for the brightly lit torch that he was holding, she might have missed him until she got a little closer. A fleeting thought crossed her mind to just forget about wanting to go to the statue before she left, but her stubbornness overrode her fear. She just had to see the Lucky Old Lady once more.

Gathering the courage to willingly enter another's presence, Marielle left her post on the side of the house and began to walk to the statue. She paused for a second when she realized that the Bosmer was whispering to the statue. Shrugging, she supposed it wasn't as bad as her talking to herself earlier, and she thought about how crazy she truly was because she had done so. When she got close, the Bosmer stopped talking to the statue and glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. Instead of ignoring her like a normal person would have, he turned fully to her and began to speak.

"You're not welcomed here, abomination." The Bosmer's face contorted into one full of hatred and disgust.

Not appreciating the stranger's rudeness, Marielle was quick to retort. "Would you care to repeat that?" Today was just not her day, and she was hoping that she could take her anger out on someone. Besides, the guy in front of her was a joke. He wasn't nearly as intimidating as Lucien—not to mention that he was shorter than her—and that knowledge gave her the courage to face him.

"You heard me the first time. Leave while I'm giving you the opportunity."

Marielle scowled at the shorter man. "I don't need _your_ permission, and I will stay as long as I'd like."

The Bosmer took a step toward Marielle, causing her to take a step back. "Do you want to die here?" he threatened, reaching for his bow with his free hand. To be able to properly wield the bow, he threw the torch down.

"Try as you might, you _won't_ succeed!" Marielle started to reach for one of her daggers, keeping her eyes trained on the male before her as he reached for an arrow.

"_Stop this foolishness right now,"_ an ethereal voice boomed from the statue.

Marielle had not expected this. Yes, a woman had spoken to this very statue in her vision earlier, but she didn't know that the thing could actually speak. This surpassed anything and everything that she had thought was weird, so yes, she halted her preparation for attack.

The male had also paused in his attack. Discarding his bow on the ground, he kneeled in front of the statue. "My apologies."

The Breton looked at the now submissive male, and then glanced at the statue. Whatever was going on, she didn't know, but she didn't really want to stick around to find out. If a statue could talk, who knew what else it was capable of? Fueled by fear, Marielle sheathed her dagger and ran off toward the city's exit.

She didn't stop running when she heard the guards calling out to her in concern because of her dramatic exit. She had to put as much distance between herself and the statue as possible. With the amount of adrenaline pumping through her veins, she could run for minutes without rest.

Eventually, she did stop running, though. However, it wasn't because she was tired. Lying on the ground in front of her was a slain Khajiit. It was a large male, and he was dressed in fur armor. His blood decorated the ground around him with a large puddle, and judging from the scent, he was slain just moments before her arrival. Not wanting to stick around so that the blame may be placed on her, she stepped around the fallen male and continued on the Green Road at a brisk walk.

As if the Khajiit wasn't disturbing enough, she came across two wolves about six feet from each other. Both had also been slain and were lying in their own blood. She began to question if this route was even safe at all. Perhaps the Khajiit and the wolves attacked somebody and the victim defended themselves, or there was someone going around and killing both people and animals alike for a hobby, Marielle concluded. The thought of being hacked down for just walking up the road was unsettling, so she clutched her iron dagger for a sense of security. Maybe this was what the Nord innkeeper and Imperial guard was warning her about? Still, she couldn't just stand here and be an easy target, so she pressed on.

When she reached the Inn of Ill Omen, she heard voices inside. It sounded like more than four guys were inside, and they were talking about Rufio's murder. Knowing that the Nord could probably put two and two together and figure out that she was the culprit, she hurried by. She had nothing to gain by getting caught by the authorities.

After the sight of another dead wolf, she came upon what she assumed to be the Red Ring Road. She paused and thought back to Lucien's behavior. Did she really want to subject herself to living with a group of people just like him? She cursed when she couldn't come up with any alternate solutions for her life. She had to face the facts—the Dark Brotherhood was the only thing that she had going for her at the moment.

With a sigh she began to analyze the road before her. Knowing that she had come from the left of this very road the get to Bravil, she went to the right. Soon after crossing two bridges, the metallic scent of blood made it to her nose again.

Looking ahead, a dead man wearing a blue robe came into view. Wanting nothing more than to bypass him, Marielle began to walk a large radius around him, stopping when she noticed a potion and book some feet away from him.

Finding no harm in claiming his abandoned goods, she grabbed them. As soon as she had secured the aforementioned items in her pocket, she heard footsteps closing in on her. Her head whipped in the direction of the noise, and she breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn't an Imperial guard, instead it was just a Bosmer woman dressed in a brown shirt, a pair of light brown linens, and pigskin shoes.

The woman stopped a few feet away from Marielle, studying the body on the ground. "Is this your doing?"

"No, I was just passing through," Marielle dismissed the conversation. She maneuvered around the Bosmer and was walking away when she heard the sound of a string of a bow being pulled.

"Halt or I'll shoot!" the Bosmer instructed.

Cursing silently, Marielle did as she was told. She turned slowly to the woman to see that she had a silver arrow aimed at her. Of all the different types of arrows, why did the woman have to have a silver one? Deciding that silence would be her best friend, the Breton kept her mouth closed.

"Since you've refused to go our lord of your own free will, you will be taken to him forcefully."

The only thing that popped into Marielle's mind at the Bosmer's statement was the black wolf. She would be damned if she would get taken to that thing. Knowing that fleeing probably wouldn't be a good idea but ignoring the logic, the Breton made up her mind to run. Her resolution must have shown on her face because a searing pain entered her left shoulder. Without having to look, she knew that she had been shot because the pain almost sent her to her knees, and it was, without a doubt, the pain of a silver object breaking through her skin.

Not wanting to receive another arrow, Marielle turned and ran while biting her tongue to keep from crying out. A thin line of blood trickled down her chin from the newly caused self-injury. Although she was trying not to jar her injured shoulder, it was almost impossible to do so while running. Her left shoulder felt like it was melting away, and the pain spread to her torso and down her left arm. Her vision darkened, and she felt light-headed, but she didn't stop. For all she knew, the crazy woman was still behind her.

It seemed like she was running for ages until she came across a bridge. In the distance, she could hear a battle going on, and she could barely make out an Imperial guard and a Khajiit fighting one another on the land beside the bridge. Once she had fully crossed it, a black horse came into view. Despite the fact that it potentially belonged to the Imperial guard, Marielle managed to awkwardly get on it with the help of her right arm only, and she rode off, ignoring the yells of the guard to stop.

The motion of riding a running horse did nothing but make her head swirl even more. Her injury was constantly being jarred and the pain in her shoulder increased with every gallop. She could smell her blood, and she felt it slowly running down her left side. Clutching onto the horse for dear life with her right hand, Marielle continued. With each passing second, she could feel herself losing the battle of trying to stay conscious. Eventually, her grip slipped off of the horse, and the last thing that she remembered was falling sideways as the dark voids sucked her under.

0-0

Consciousness came to her as fast as it took a turtle to cross the bridge leading to Imperial city. Little by little, she crawled out of the dark voids, fighting to break the surface. One by one, her senses came. It all seemed so surreal.

First, her sense of smell came to her. The scent of wild berries invaded her nose, and it smelled rather good. Her mouth watered to take a taste.

Second to arise was her sense of hearing. The rhythmic click clack of hooves hitting the road assaulted her ears along with the steady heartbeat pressed against her right ear. Her throat went dry from listening to that strong organ pump blood throughout someone's body, and she realized that she was parched.

Third in line to arrive was her ability to feel. A strong arm was wrapped around her back and the hand connected to that arm was secured at her midsection on top of her left hand. She was curled against someone's chest, and oddly, she didn't freak out. For once in her life, she didn't mind the contact because it was comforting and she could feel her life depleting, so it wouldn't even matter in a few hours anyway. With this state of mind, she felt safe and protected from her life full of nightmares. In this stranger's arms, there was no opening for anything horrific to reach her. Well, almost anything, she determined.

A white-hot pain made itself known in her shoulder. Then she remembered that she had gotten shot by a silver arrow. Too her relief, though, the injury wasn't being jarred, so the pain wasn't increasing. However, the pain seemed to have slowly spread to the rest of her torso. Not knowing if the arrow was still in her shoulder or not, she started to reach for it with her right hand, only to be stopped by a voice.

"Don't touch it—the arrow needs to be removed properly," a silky voice reprimanded her. Marielle's right side vibrated from being pressed against the person's chest. She flinched from the volume, moving her wounded shoulder accidentally. A hiss of pain came from her mouth. "Stop moving, you will only aggravate it further," the voice said in a lower tone.

With her throat being too dry to properly respond, Marielle only manage to croak out nonsense, so she opted to stay quiet and enjoy the feeling that someone cared. Whether the stranger cared or not was unknown, but he sure did give the impression that he was at least worried—even if it was in the form of demands.

After what seemed like an eternity, the horse came to a halt. "I received your message. Here, I'll take her," an unknown person with a compelling and beautiful voice said. Marielle wanted to look and see who had such a voice, but when she tried to open her eyes, she only received a blurry mess of colors and a stomach churning wave of dizziness. Deciding that it would be best to keep her eyes closed, she shut them and decided to refer to them by their scents since she couldn't see them.

Carefully, she felt her body being shifted away from the stranger who was holding onto to her and into the arms of another. The smell of wild berries changed into an indescribable yet familiar scent. If she would call it anything, she would call it nature because it held an earthy quality to it if that made any sense. Confused or not on how to describe it, Marielle was able to decide that it was probably the best scent ever.

"How is she doing?" Nature asked as he started walking.

"Her temperature has been steadily dropping. A few moments ago, she gained consciousness, but I don't know if she still is or not. Did you bring the potions and clothing?" Berries asked.

"I did. I also brought several _other_ vials," Nature responded while cradling her carefully so that he wouldn't make her shoulder worse, and somehow, her head ended up on the crook of his neck. His skin was cold to the touch, but she figured that it was just because of the temperature outside or maybe it was just her unnaturally cool skin. "How are you feeling?" Nature interrupted her thoughts.

"Fire… so weak… nauseas," Marielle managed to get out despite her dry throat.

"We must hurry to remove the arrow. Judging from the looks of it, the shaft of the arrow is also silver, and her system is unable to withstand it for much longer," Nature called out.

"If the shaft is silver, too, then how do we go about removing it? How will it be broken, or will you be able to handle that part?" Berries asked.

"Contrary to popular belief, I can handle a silver object without turning into ash. It will burn slightly, but as long as my skin isn't broken and if I don't keep in contact with it for too long, then I will be fine," Nature informed.

By this point, Marielle was thoroughly confused. However, whatever they were talking about soon ceased to matter because her whole body seemed to spontaneously go up in flames. The pain was so great that she couldn't even choke out a scream, and she felt the world of reality slipping away again. With this came the bitter revelation of her biggest fear—dying. At first she welcomed the feeling, but now, it petrified her. It was ironic in a way. She hated living, yet when she felt like she was close to death, she was afraid. All of the stories about dying being peaceful were a myth. Although she was sure that it was peaceful in the very end, she hypothesized that death was much like life—painful and bitter. Before the excruciating pain sucked her under again, she voiced the only thought running through her mind. "I don't wanna die."

0-0

"_I find it hard to believe that someone as… fragile as her is anything of importance."_

"_Believe what you wish, but after all of these years, I've never been led astray."_

"_The vials aren't working, we're losing her!"_

"_Perhaps your spontaneous thinking will retain her."_

"_If what you said before is true, then I had no other options."_

"_That's enough, Marielle—let him go. That's it, just let go."_

She rose from her lying position in the bed with a start from her hazy dream. There was a slight ache coursing throughout her body, but she ignored it. Eyes wide, she tried to look around the room before her eyes properly adjusted, only managing to make out distorted images. Within moments, though, her vision cleared, and she realized that she was in a large room. It had everything required for comfortable living—a large chest, a bookshelf, a table with chairs, shelves, and a desk. Looking down, she found herself on a large bed.

To say that Marielle was thoroughly confused would be an understatement. She didn't know where she was or how she got here. Throwing her feet over the edge of the bed, she dragged herself to her feet and shuffled over to desk, finding her weapons, money, a tome, and her mother's diary. Along with that, she found a note written in the neatest handwriting that she had ever seen—second to her mother's, that is. Picking up the note, she began to read it.

_The cost of your room has been covered for up to fifteen days. There is food, drinks, and potions on the table. Also, you must drink the blue bottle. It is imperative to your recovery. Rest and get well. _

It was then that the previous events rushed Marielle's mind—from the killing of her father to encountering Berries and Nature. Looking down at her shoulder, she gasped at the fact that her burlap vest was still intact. Pulling the material away from her shoulder, she saw an angry red mark where the arrow had penetrated. She figured that the back of her shoulder looked the same considering the fact that the arrow had went in one side and broke the surface on the other before lodging itself in her body at the shaft. Moving her left arm in a circular motion, she slightly winced. It was a little painful, but it wasn't anything too serious.

Looking to the table, she saw various potions, cheeses, wines, pitchers, apples, and breads. Immediately, her stomach growled, and she found herself taking a seat and grabbing an apple. Absentmindedly, she started munching on the fruit, and her mind started trying to figure out who her two saviors were. When all logical thoughts eluded her, she settled for just eating. The sooner she filled her empty belly, the faster that she could leave.

After downing three apples and one pitcher of water, she went for the blue bottle that resembled the pink potion bottles. Upon popping the cork, she sniffed it a few times. It smelled delicious, and she chugged it in record time. Warmth began to build in her stomach, spreading out to the rest of her body. The small ache that previously resided in her body receded, leaving her feeling like she was whole again. Her eyes scanned the table for any more blue bottles, and when she found none, she grabbed the three pink potion bottles and put them in her pocket.

Anxious to leave the room, she collected her items from the desk, noting the way that she felt more energized. When everything was secure on her person, she went to the door and put on her braided leather sandals. Without delay, she slipped out of the door and looked around the foreign place. Seeing some stairs down the hall to the right, she took them, coming across a counter with a lady standing behind it. She briefly eyed at the amount of wine racks that were behind the lady against the wall, but she thought nothing of it.

"It's so good to finally see you conscious. I hope that you are enjoying your stay here at the Cheydinhal Bridge Inn," the Imperial woman behind the desk greeted.

Wanting information, Marielle walked over to the woman and sat on a stool in front of the counter. "When and how did I get here?" Noticing that she came off as rude toward the Imperial woman—and that was the last thing that she wanted to do if she wanted help—she added, "Please?"

"Your male friend brought you in about thirteen days ago, and he paid for a fifteen day stay along with all of the luxuries."

Marielle looked to the counter to avoid meeting the look that she knew the older woman was giving her. "What did he look like?"

"He was a very charismatic male. His hair was brown and held by a leather strap and he had brown eyes. He wore a dark green shirt and leather pants." The confusion must have shown on Marielle's face because the older woman then asked, "Are you alright?"

Composing herself, Marielle replied, "Yes. Thank you for the room." She slid off of the stool and headed for the door without another word.

Once outside, she flinched slightly at the morning rays—lucky for her, her pendant was still around her neck. Glancing around, she became aware of her surroundings. None of the adjacent buildings were familiar to the Breton. Much to her pleasure, though, there was a guard to her left, so she went to him and asked him where she was.

"You're in Cheydinhal—the western gate to be exact. Is everything alright?"

A light bulb went off in Marielle's head at the mentioning of Cheydinhal. She was on her way here to go to the Dark Brotherhood when she was attacked. Nodding at the guard in thanks, she turned and headed in the opposite direction. If she remembered correctly, she was supposed to go to the eastern gate.

After crossing a bridge and passing a chapel, she found herself looking at what she assumed to be the eastern gate. Continuing on the road that abruptly made a complete U-turn, she began to look at the houses. It wasn't hard to spot the run down, abandoned house.

Knowing that she had found the place, Marielle looked around for spectators. Finding none, she approached the boarded up door. After thoroughly inspecting it, she found out that the boards on the door were just for show and had no real purpose other than deterring random people from wanting to enter. With a breath of encouragement, she entered.

Inside, there were spider webs, broken barrels, overturned furniture, and dust. Not letting any of it distract her, the Breton headed to the door to what might have been the basement. Upon entering, she followed the dark corridor until she reached a room with a large hole in the wall. Seeing no other way, she proceeded through the hole and was greeted by an eerie red light and a dreadful atmosphere. The hallway that she walked through was adorned with bones, spider webs, and blood. When she came to the end, she looked up and nearly fell backward.

A large door was blocking her path. At the top of the large door was a skull with a handprint upon it. Under the skull was a large woman holding a baby—whether the woman was cuddling the baby or trying to devour it was unknown. There were also four smaller men at her feet and they were holding their hands up in the air in what Marielle assumed to be praise.

The art on the door captivated Marielle in a frightening type of way. She idly wondered what it meant, but she soon dismissed the thought and approached the door. After placing a shaky hand on the door, she gasped at the sudden knowledge that the entire thing was made up of ebony—it had to be expensive.

"_What is the color of night?" _

Marielle fell backwards and landed in an undignified heap on the floor, causing pain to shoot through her whole body. She didn't know what it was about inanimate objects wanting to talk to her lately, but she most certainly didn't like nor appreciate it. Taking some time to get up off the floor, she had one last thought about fleeing; however, she thought better of it. She couldn't turn back after coming so far.

Trying to distract herself from wanting to run, she thought back to what Lucien said. Who knew that Lucien meant that the door would talk when he said that she would be asked a question? Speaking of Lucien, how did he tell her to respond? So long, my brother? Something, my brother? Shit, my brother? Sanguine, my brother? Yes, that was it.

Clearing her throat, she recited, "Sanguine, my brother." The door creaked open at her response, and she tried her best not to jump. With her nerves on edge and an unsteady gait, she proceeded slowly into the darkness.

"_Welcome home…" _the door greeted.

Marielle froze and slowly turned her head to the door. She wondered if it was too late to haul ass and get as far away from this place as possible. Her hopes died when the door slammed shut, ending her indecisiveness.

**Chapter End**

That was the most gruesome, awesome, horrible, wonderful, worst, and greatest chapter that I've ever written. It was torturous trying to think of the contents. I've written and rewritten so many scenes that it wasn't even funny. On a good note, I absolutely love the outcome! You don't know how many hours per day that I've spent on this.

Enough about me, though. Hopefully you enjoyed this chapter, and even if you didn't, I'm dying to know your thoughts. So many events occurred, and I'm sure at least one of them caused some form of reaction. Also, cookies go to everyone who identified and figured out the numerous puzzles within this chapter—seriously, there are tons. Remember, reviewing tells me that when school ends in a week for the summer, I have to work on this story like never before since I will have a lot more time.


	4. Chapter 4

**Dark Obsession**

I have to say that I am so happy with the amount of reviews, alerts, and favorites that this story has received. Seriously, I dance every time that I get a new notification about it! I would like to thank everyone who gives this story their time!

Also, I'm sorry that it took so long to get this chapter out. Writer's block had a go at me, then I kept having to rewrite scenes because I felt that they were inferior. Seriously, I have over thirty pages of discarded content for this chapter alone. It was evil! Well, I hope that you enjoy this chapter! By the way, grab a snack or something—it is slightly longer than the last chapter.

Disclaimer: I don't own Oblivion.

**Chapter Four**

Marielle's heartbeat quickened to an abnormal pace, and it took all of her self-control to keep from shaking like a leaf. She had willingly walked into a den of assassins, and she wanted nothing more than to escape. What if they didn't like her? What if they were all like Lucien? What if they were crazed? What if they tried to kill her?

She realized that she was holding her breath and forced herself to breathe. She was overreacting, that was all. If she planned on being an assassin, then she had to get over her pointless fears. She had chosen this life, and now she had to face the consequences.

After realizing that she had been staring at the door for some time, Marielle turned to look at the red hallway before her, holding in a gasp when she made out a dark figure at the end. She knew that she couldn't just stand there and hope that the door would open again, so she slowly proceeded down the hallway into the darkness ahead.

With every step, the figure at the end of the hall became defined, and Marielle was beginning to make out a person wearing dark armor. Upon closer inspection, she was able to identify that person as an Argonian—something that she had only read about. Whether it was a male or a female was unknown to the Breton.

When she got close, the green, pink, and purple Argonian took a few careful steps forward, saying, "Greetings! Greetings! I am Ocheeva, mistress of this Sanctuary. Lucien has told me all about you. Let me welcome you to the Dark Brotherhood!"

After she convinced herself that Ocheeva wouldn't harm her, Marielle allowed herself a few moments of distraction to think about what Lucien had said. If her memory served her correctly, then she was supposed to speak to Ocheeva. Well, it was a good thing that the woman was waiting on her because it saved her the trouble of having to search for her in this foreign place.

Shifting from one foot to the other, Marielle made herself look the woman before her in the eyes, giving the false impression that she wasn't afraid. Her courage might have worked had she not found it highly disturbing that Ocheeva's eyes were completely red with black slits down the middle of them. Then again, it would have been even more disturbing to find a lizard with human eyes.

Suddenly, reality hit Marielle, and she guessed that Ocheeva had fallen silent so that she may speak her thoughts. Swallowing hard, she murmured, "I'm glad to be here." She cast her eyes downward so that the older female may not see through her lie. She had learned the hard way that assassins obviously didn't like to be disrespected.

Her lie must have remained a secret because Ocheeva enthusiastically replied, "It is always a pleasure to welcome another Dark Sister into our ranks! Truly, the Night Mother treasures her daughters!"

Marielle had to resist the urge to scoff. Seriously, who was this Night Mother? Unwilling to voice her curiosity, the Breton settled for just agreeing with the Argonian. The less that she had to talk, the better.

Several voices and a creaking noise entered Marielle's ears, and she tried to identify where both sounds were coming from by casting glances around the dark room. Finding neither aggravated her, and Ocheeva must have noticed this.

"I see that you're anxious to explore the Sanctuary. Would you like a tour?"

Being uncomfortable with holding a conversation and knowing that a tour meant more interaction, Marielle tried her hardest to politely reject, even though she knew that it probably wasn't a good idea to walk around the place alone. "Erm, no, thank you."

Ocheeva managed a dejected look, saying, "Very well. Please accept this gift from your new family." She held a folded set of armor toward Marielle that resembled the one that she was wearing.

Feeling uncomfortable about accepting a gift from a family that she didn't particularly want, Marielle stared at it longer than was necessary. Gradually, as if the armor would bite, she reached her hands out and grabbed it. The feel of magic licking across her skin tingled up her arms, and she jumped. Looking at the armor that Ocheeva wore, she could see the subtle gleam of magic encasing it. How could she have missed it before?

"It is a unique set of armor, lighter than normal leather and black as the Void," Ocheeva provided.

"I see." Burgundy eyes went back to the set in her arms. To be honest, the armor looked amazing, but she couldn't see herself wearing something so… clingy. It seemed a little more than inappropriate with the way that it hugged one's body like a second skin. "Um, thanks."

"You are to report to Vicente. He deals with the new recruits in training and giving them their contracts. His room is at the end of the hall behind me. I feel that you will be most comfortable with him."

Marielle raised a questionable eyebrow at the Argonian's last statement, but she said nothing. With a nod, she maneuvered around the Argonian, silently praying for her sanity to remain intact. To say that she was ecstatic to meet more people would be a terrible lie. When she was just a few steps away, Ocheeva called out to her, halting her steps.

"And Sister, I do hope that you will learn to stop fearing us."

Marielle cringed. She was nobody's sister, and she didn't have a family. "Please refer to me as Marielle. I, ah, I'm not used to being referred to as _Sister_."

"I hope that that will change. Go now, and may the Night Mother wrap you in her cold, loving embrace."

Taking that as her cue to leave, Marielle continued into the large room. The creaking that she heard earlier could now be identified as a skeleton walking through the room to her left, and she was just about to take cover when a raspy voice that didn't belong to Ocheeva spoke.

"That's the Dark Guardian. Don't worry, he's friendly, dear Sister."

Cringing, Marielle looked to the owner of the voice, seeing another Argonian—a green and red one to be exact. Whereas Ocheeva was a female, this one was a male—if his voice was any indication. "May I ask that you refer to me as Marielle?" It was funny how being trapped underground with assassins caused one to be polite.

"My deepest apologies, Marielle. I welcome you to our family, and this Sanctuary. May you find yourself at home here, in the loving embrace of our Lady the Night Mother."

"Hopefully," Marielle replied before continuing. If one more person mentioned the Night Mother, then she would pull her hair out. Really, was this unknown entity the only thing that these people thought about? While in the midst of her mental rant, she failed to notice her surroundings. Her thought process ended when she found her arms pinned to her sides and her body being squeezed.

"Welcome, Sister! I can't believe you're finally here! It took you long enough to get here, though! Lucien told us about you forever ago! I grew old waiting on you!"

For a second, Marielle was dumbfounded. What person in their right mind would go and randomly hug a stranger? It didn't help that the offender was an assassin.

When her mind finally comprehended that she was being held, she started to panic. She hated physical contact. Instinctively, she tried to reach for the daggers that were secured at her side, but she stopped in mid motion—it just didn't seem too intelligent to attack an assassin. Still, she had to get free. "Get off of me!" she yelled, struggling against the stranger.

"Sorry!" The person let go and took a step back, revealing a blonde-haired Breton. "I just couldn't resist! I was so excited to know that another family had arrived!"

"Is your head vacant of a fucking mind?" Taking a step back, Marielle gave the woman a look that asked her if she had just drunken some skooma. When she received nothing but a cheery smile, she produced a flat look.

"You're so silly!" The loony responded with a chuckle. "I haven't had my mind for quite some time now, but if you find it, could you let me know? According to Altierus, I need it."

Burgundy eyes looked the blonde up and down before resting on her blue eyes. Within them she found a carefree child despite the fact that the person before her was clearly a woman. How did someone so immature end up as an assassin?

"My name is Antoinetta! What's yours?" The woman now identified as Antoinetta practically bounced with exhilaration.

Marielle contemplated not answering and walking away, but she thought better of it. "Marielle," she grumbled.

"Marielle? What a mouthful! I'll call you Mary!"

Before Marielle could object, her hand was grabbed by the other woman, and she was being pulled down the hall. "Let go of me!"

"Oh, hush! I'm taking you to meet the others!" Antoinetta continued to drag her out of the common room and into another corridor. "It's great having another sister my age, and you're a Breton! We can play pranks on the others and have fun! Oh, and we can share assassination stories! I disemboweled an Imperial once! His intestines just fell out and hit the floor with the most amazing splat that I've ever heard! Did you know that intestines were slimy?"

Despite all of her struggling, Marielle failed to break free of the psychotic woman. After they had come to a stop, she practically snatched her hand back when the blonde let her go. Just when she was about to yell at the woman, she stopped. Two people stood before her—an Orc and a Bosmer.

"Gorgy and Tally, this is Mary! She's our new sister!"

Marielle failed to hear Antoinetta due to the fact that she was breaking her neck looking at a giant Orc. Judging from the size of the Orc, she was barely half of his height. She had seen Orcs before, but this one was freakishly large.

"Do you mind if I hug you?" the Orc asked in a booming voice, bringing Marielle out of her stupor.

Taking a few steps back, Marielle indignantly shook her head side to side. She could imagine her spinal cord snapping like a twig in his grasp.

"You're scaring her!" the Bosmer chastised the Orc before turning to the hyper woman. "Antoinetta, why don't you go and make our new sister some of your specialty bread," the Bosmer instructed.

"Good idea! Mary, don't go anywhere! And while I'm at it, I'll find your lamb!"

Marielle watched as the other Breton ran off, wishing that she wasn't left alone with the Orc and Bosmer despite not liking Antoinetta's bubbly personality. Turning back to the other two, she took another step back. After her previous two encounters with Bosmers, she didn't particularly like them, and the fact that this one's face was most obstructed by a hood didn't help quell her wariness of the creatures. Besides, there was something about this particular one that wasn't quite right.

"That should keep her occupied for a while. I'm sorry about that. Antoinetta has always been a little… eccentric, and Gogron here is just a big softy, so don't let his size fool you."

"I'm a big softy? Funny, I don't recall you saying that last—" Gogron was cut off, and Marielle's cheeks took on an interesting rosy shade at what she assumed was a perverse comment.

"Ignore him. I'm Talendril, and you are?" the Bosmer asked, acting like she didn't hear the Orc's protest about being interrupted.

"Uh, Marielle. I, ah, have to go." Before things could get anymore awkward, the Breton excused herself and continued down the hall at a brisk pace. When she was sure that she had put enough distance between her and the others, Marielle let out a shaky breath. If this was just the beginning of her life as an assassin, then she wanted to change occupations. Interacting with people wasn't her thing, and doing so was difficult for her, especially if the said people were crazy.

She stopped in the middle of the dark corridor. What if she couldn't withstand something as insignificant as living in this place and killing people for a living? She couldn't imagine living everyday terrified of the people that dwelled in this place. No, she had to do this. Without it, she wouldn't have a place to live or an income. That didn't mean that she would particularly like it, though.

With a sharp inhale of air for courage, Marielle's mind stopped working. Out of the numerous scents that lingered within the corridor, there was one that caught her attention. It held an earthy quality, and it soothed her fears. Somewhere deep in the back of her mind, a memory triggered. The scent… it was the exact scent that her mother had. She remembered the days were she would inhale as much of the aroma as she could every time her mother was in the vicinity.

Before nostalgia had a chance to sink in, the Breton concluded that she had to find the owner of that scent. She immediately dispelled the hopeful thought of finding her mother in this place—she did perish in front of her, after all. Still, the owner of the aroma had significantly piqued her interest.

With a newfound mission, Marielle hurried down the numerous stairs and curves of the dark corridor, stopping only when she came upon two large wooden doors. Clutching her armor in one arm, she reached the other toward one of the handles, pausing when she heard hushed voices on the other side. She frowned when she couldn't make out any words, but she was able to tell that there were at least three people on the other side. After some time, a scratching noise entered her ears, followed by a voice that wasn't whispered.

"What is it, Fenrir?" asked a male with a voice that sounded more malevolent than any that she's ever heard.

Marielle's attempted eavesdropping was cut short when the doors in front of her were abruptly opened. She stumbled back a few steps and looked up, meeting the glare of an Imperial.

"You're the one that has caused all of the commotion in the Sanctuary lately?" Blue eyes narrowed as they stared down at her. "You're terribly pathetic." The Imperial turned around and headed back into the room as if he didn't just insult Marielle, leaving her frozen in place—whether it was because she feared him or the fact that she had gotten caught was unknown.

Her eyes fixated on the stranger as he walked away, or more specifically, the curtain of black hair that swayed behind him with every step. She noted that when the candle light hit it the right way, it held a blue tint.

An undignified scream left her lips when something wet touched her free hand, and she jumped back, looking to see what it was. The sight that greeted her was enough to instill more fear in her than moving into a den of assassins had. A black wolf with red eyes regarded her with more intelligence than an animal should have, reminding her of the wolf that kept contacting her.

"Leave her be, Fenrir—she isn't worthy of your time," the Imperial called out, gaining the wolf's attention. It took another glance at Marielle before trotting into the room to sit at the Imperial's side at the table where he was seated.

"Altierus," a smooth voice reprimanded in a gentle yet dangerous tone.

"I was merely stating a fact," the Imperial replied nonchalantly.

"Point proven," the smooth voice said flatly. Taking on a gentler and compelling tone, the voice added, "Marielle, please do come in."

Having yet to see the person who chastised the Imperial, Marielle swallowed hard. Her eyes skittered over the man known as Altierus and his wolf before she took a step into the room, revealing a second male—presumably known as Vicente—sitting at a desk to the right, the one who invited her in. Looking around, she sought out the owner of the third voice that she had heard, finding no one else. Had she imagined it? Shrugging the thought off, her eyes settled on Vicente, and she gasped.

His eyes were the first thing to catch her attention—his pupils were red and his irises were a light pink color. His hair was deep brown in color without a speck of gray despite the aged characteristics that his face held. He looked so… familiar, yet Marielle was sure that she had never encountered him before.

That is when her memories rushed her. Her mother's face came to mind, and unlike the other unsuccessful times when she tried to recollect her mother's face in the past, the vision was clear. Her mother held the same aged look, and even though she looked old, she was the most beautiful person Marielle had ever seen. Her mother's eyes had the same pink irises and red pupils as the man before her. The only difference that her mother and the Breton before her had was hair color—her mother had the most vibrant red hair that she had ever seen. Inhaling, she identified the male's scent as the same one that her mother had—earthy. Her mother had perished when she was five, and she had forgotten even the smallest details of her mother's features, but now, it had all returned.

The breath rushed out of her, and Marielle found herself starting to tremble. Being older with more knowledge than she had when she was a child, she knew that this male's characteristics weren't normal. He was a Breton, yes, but he was something else, and from reading mass amounts of material, she could only guess one thing. Her guess couldn't be correct, though, could it?

"Perhaps you should take a seat—you look rather pale," the Breton male suggested and got out of his chair. Cold hands guided her into the previously occupied chair at the desk, and Marielle's mind was too occupied to do anything but comply. "What ails you, Sister?"

Looking to the male that had kneeled beside her, Marielle swallowed hard. Were those fangs that she had just seen in his mouth? If so, then it would further confirm her previous suspicions. She ran her tongue over her canines, idly wondering if people's teeth were supposed to be so sharp. Lacking the mental capacity to see the full picture that the pieces of the puzzle were trying to put together, she came to the conclusion that there was only one way to figure out what she wanted to know. "What are you?" a breathless murmur escaped from her mouth before she could think better of it.

The male gracefully stood from the floor and reached for a parchment on his desk. "Altierus, although you are no longer under my care, I find this contract quite suitable for you. It is too advanced for Antoinetta and Marielle." He walked over to the Imperial at his table and handed him the contract. Altierus gave him a disapproving look, but he took the contract and left the room, taking his wolf, Fenrir, with him. The Breton closed the large doors before returning back to Marielle's side. "Tell me, Sister, what is on your mind."

"You and her—you're just alike. Your eyes and scent are completely i-identical," Marielle stammered, shaking her head from side to side in denial. "You're a vampire, but if that's the case, then that means that she was, too. I'm… a… but, I don't understand. My father—he was _human._"

"I have to admit, when I learned of your origins, I was surprised. Conception of half vampires is possible—I've encountered one in one of my journeys to Imperial city—but I would assume that the parentage would have to consist of a humanoid female and a vampire male because of the fact that the reproductive organs of a female cease to function once a female becomes a vampire."

"And the males?" Marielle's voice cracked from being used so much.

"Their organs cease to work, also, but they retain their… ability to reproduce."

"I should have seen the signs—the reason why my heartbeat was slower than everyone that I've encountered, my unexplained reactions and abhorrence of the sun, my abnormally cold body temperature, the reason why my stomach can't handle meat, my excellent night vision, my sensitive hearing, my superb sense of smell. I should have realized it before now," Marielle murmured, unaware of the fact that she was speaking aloud.

Something immeasurably cold touched Marielle's uninjured shoulder, bringing her out of her stupor. Identifying the cold as the hand of the vampire, Marielle panicked, swatting the hand away. "Don't touch me!" Scrambling to her feet, she looked at Vicente with fear filled eyes, panting. The room was too small, and there wasn't enough air. She had to get away from here because she needed space, but most of all, she needed to think.

Ignoring the the curious stare from the vampire, Marielle went for the door in a brisk run, dropping her armor on the floor in her panic. With some resistance, she was able to open one of the large doors, and she ran out of the room.

Pink eyes looked at the fallen armor before turning to Lucien as he deactivated his invisibility spell. "I am curious as to why you hid from her."

"If you are to earn her trust, then I cannot make my appearance known to her for some time, not until she is comfortable with you." The Imperial stood from the table and went for the door. "My presence would have caused her to naturally gravitate towards me, given that I am a familiar face to her. She needs to trust you since you are available to her at all times here—I have no such availability. You need to provide her with the security that she seeks."

"That goes without saying." Vicente crouched down to gather the forgotten armor. "Did you ever take care of your wrist?"

"It's completely healed. Now if you'll excuse me, I believe that we both have business to attend to." With that Lucien cast an invisibility spell and left.

0-0

The hallway was oddly quiet, lacking the welcoming party that it held not too long ago. At the moment, however, Marielle could care less about anyone or anything. There may have been an assassin or two in the common area, but she failed to acknowledge their presence.

Her goal was the large ebony door no more than fifty feet ahead of her. When she reached it, she was sure that it wouldn't bulge, trapping her in. Placing a hand on the cool material, she was startled when it opened with a creak.

Without letting her awe of the situation consume her time, she bolted through the door, flinching when her feet crunched on the bones that decorated the red corridor that she found herself in. Careful so that she wouldn't step on more, she continued until she was standing in front of the front door of the abandoned house.

From the tingling in her skin, she could tell that the sun was high in the sky, and she paused, taking a moment to breath. The chances of the Dark Brotherhood allowing her to leave were slim, but if that was the case, then why did they let her get so far? Shouldn't they have sent someone after her? Was it easy to just pick up and leave? Did she want to leave?

Unwilling to risk the possible consequences of leaving the area, she looked to the right to the rest of the house. From the darkness, she could see a staircase that led upward, and figuring that she didn't have anywhere else to go, she took the stairs, hoping that they wouldn't give out under her weight. When she came to the next floor, she looked around, seeing a fireplace, broken crates, and another set of stairs. Without thinking, she took the second set of stairs and came upon a small room with a set of drawers and an empty bookcase. Oddly, her scent was in the room.

Taking a step forward, she stepped on a dirty rug, but the cleanliness of it didn't matter. What mattered now was her heritage. For all of these years, she thought that she was normal—she thought that she was a human. It had never occurred to her that she was the child of a vampire. It wasn't appalling like most would have thought, but it was definitely a shock.

Suddenly, everything that her father had told her had become clear. He always called her a worthless piece of shit that nobody would want or love, and now she knew why. Her genes were made up of a mixture that was never supposed to be. She wasn't exactly the epitome of perfection in the eyes of neither humanoids nor vampires. She was an abomination, just like the Bosmer had told her at the Lucky Old Lady. In a sense, he was correct—she was an unholy half breed, torn between the land of the living and the dead.

Vampires are considered to be monsters. They had no place in the world as far as people were concerned. People were afraid of the unknown, and she doubted that anyone would sit down and have a conversation with a vampire. As far as they were concerned, vampires were soulless creatures that killed for fun and feasted on people's blood. Being half of one would automatically place her in that category, and she didn't want that. Sadly, there was nothing that she could do to change her genes.

She dropped to her knees in the dark room, unable to stay upright. She had lived her whole life alone, and she had become accustomed to it, but that didn't mean that she liked it. One day, she hoped that she would come out of her shell in her new life—she eventually wanted friends. Yes, she knew that she couldn't stand the thought of having someone occupy the same space as her, but the thought of never having someone in her space at all ranked above the latter. In fact, it was deathly frightening. She may never have the chance to experience having a friend, and for one who has lived in a basement, isolated from humanity, it was a horrid thing.

She was a hybrid, and people would eventually discover it. Thinking back, she knew that the people on her travel to Cheydinhal knew she was different. They didn't know what she was, but they knew something. If she would have stayed in one place for too long, she was sure that they would have discovered her newfound secret. They would have shunned her and tried to eliminate her—if the books that she read were anything to go by.

She had to face the facts—she was born alone, she lived alone, and she would die alone. Nobody was like her, nobody would like her, and nobody would ever care. In the end, her father was right.

With a thud, she collapsed into a heap on the floor. The Dark Brotherhood couldn't save her from her loneliness. They would most likely kill her for her insubordinate act of running away. Even if she didn't break any rules by running out on them like that, they wouldn't want her. According to Lucien, she didn't even know the proper way to hold a dagger. She wouldn't benefit them in any way, and they will eventually see how useless she was and dispose of her.

A weird prickly sensation began to burn in the back of Marielle's eyes at her recent realization. Unsure of what was happening, she began to blink fast, hoping to make the foreign feeling go away. However, the feeling didn't pass. It only got stronger, rendering the Breton confused. Her vision started to blur, and she felt something warm slide down her left cheek. Lifting her fingers to the wetness, she touched it and pulled them back to inspect it. Crimson red liquid stained her fingers, and it took a while to understand what it was. For the first time in fourteen years, she was crying, except she wasn't crying tears, she was crying blood—another reminder that she was different.

She was indeed a despicable creature. She couldn't even cry when she read one of her mother's diary entries, yet she was crying for herself. If anything could be deducted from such a thing, it would be that she was selfish, and she hated herself all the more for it.

She soaked up the fact that there was no denying that she was different, hated, isolated, selfish, worthless, and _alone_.

0-0

Hours passed and the tears had long ago ceased. Being that they had gone unchecked when they were initially cried, they had painted an angry red spot on the rug. Dried streaks stained the pale skin of the Breton that produced them, but she didn't care. Burgundy eyes stared at the wall ahead, unblinking and unfocused.

The hours spent laying on the ground were used to try and forget all of the pain, but no matter what Marielle tried, she couldn't erase the truth. She couldn't erase all of the harsh words that were thrown her way all of her life. She couldn't rearrange her genes. She couldn't create miracles.

The air around her shifted, and something sinister mixed with the atmosphere. She couldn't place a finger on it, but something wasn't right. It was like all of the oxygen was being sucked up and exchanged for something else, something dark. Shielding her eyes behind their lids, Marielle sighed, waiting for whatever was coming.

"Sister?" a gentle voice inquired. It was unknown whether she actually heard the voice or not, given the fact that Marielle didn't move nor respond.

The suffocating feeling of having someone invade her personal space cause the female Breton to flinch slightly, but she didn't move from her spot. Something cold lightly touched the middle of her back, yet she didn't have the motivation to shrug it off. "Don't touch me." Her voice cracked, but it wasn't harsh, and it held no authority behind it. Her request fell upon deaf ears. When nothing happened for some time, she asked, "Are you here to kill me?"

"Quite the contrary, actually." The person began to rub small circles into the immobile girl's back. "I came to retrieve you."

Uncomfortable with the physical contact, yet mentally too weak to break it, Marielle stayed still. To be perfectly honest, the contact felt… nice, if not a little too intrusive to her. "You're wasting your time and effort on me." Silence followed her statement, and she absorbed it, enjoying the peace. After some time, the male spoke again, wrapping her up in his hypnotic voice.

"The Night Mother doesn't believe so."

Some part of her head started screaming at her for once again showing weakness in front of someone—a member of the Dark Brotherhood, no less—and she came to the realization that this behavior was unacceptable. Breaking the soothing contact that had helped to cloud her logical mind, she made it to her feet and started to slowly back up. Calculating eyes raked over the vampire in front of her, looking for any signs of aggression. When she found none, she settled on the pink eyes, showing a false sign of fearlessness.

The vampire broke eye contact and cautiously walked over to set of drawers so that he wouldn't startle Marielle any further. He placed the set of armor that he was holding in his right arm on top of the drawers, freeing his hands in preparation for a potentially bad outcome. Turning back to the half vampire, he placed on his most empathetic expression, silently showing her that he could understand her predicament. "Marielle, I am aware that this must be a difficult time in your life."

An untrusting scowl marred Marielle's features. She didn't know the male before her, yet he was trying to console her. People didn't do nice things like that, at least not for her. Even though she didn't have any evidence to make an accusation about the male, she still didn't trust him. "I'm fine."

"If that were the case, you wouldn't have run off. Also, I wouldn't have found you here, obviously crying, if the stains on the floor and your face are any indication." He kept his voice gentle.

Wiping at her cheeks to erase the marks that she could only assume were there, Marielle opted to stay quiet. There was no denying the fact that she had been crying, but thankfully, he hadn't commented on the fact that she had cried blood. The last thing that she wanted was to be reminded of her differences. As long as he didn't bring up her genes, she would be able to hold out on her emotions until she was alone again.

Vicente took a step forward, and his earthy scent flooded Marielle's nostrils. The room seemed to change, taking on a soothing atmosphere despite Marielle's internal turmoil. She didn't know what was going on, but every fiber of her being seemed to react to the scent.

She tried to avert her eyes to the ground, unwilling to let the vampire see whatever emotion that may have been on display in her eyes, but somehow, she couldn't break eye contact. Trying to distract herself, she began to analyze his eyes, finding them the most beautiful eyes that she had seen, mainly because her mother held the same colored eyes. They were gentle on the surface and dangerous underneath, yet they felt like home.

"Why were you crying?"

Marielle had nearly come undone by the captivating quality that Vicente's voice held. Briefly, she forgot that she was supposed to have been denying the fact that she was crying, and the pain of why she was crying had slammed into her chest, causing her to push her back against the wall behind her for leverage in case her legs gave out. She wanted to lie to him, and she had formed a lie on her lips, but when she opened her mouth, the truth spilled out. "I was fated to be alone." Her emotions weld up inside of her, and it took every ounce of self-control to force them down.

A chuckle came from the male in front of her, and she soaked up the laughter, reveling in the musical quality of it. No sooner had she thought it was beautiful did she frown. She hadn't become upset because of the thought that he found her humorous, no, she had become upset because of the fact that he had the ability to laugh when she had clearly lost the ability to truly do so other than the time when she had killed her father.

"What makes you think such a ridiculous thing?" He could have been talking about the weather with the light tone that his voice had taken.

A part of Marielle wanted to confide in the male before her, if only to confide in someone for once in her life. Another part of her wanted to run and escape this conversation altogether. The last part of her that would have wanted to yell at him for his choice of words was suppressed by the false calm that the vampire presented. Torn between which side of herself that she should listen to, she said, "My heritage. Don't you get it? I'm a _half breed_," she whispered with the intention of yelling it.

"I find it quite silly that you believe yourself to have a fate of loneliness because you are different. The way I see it, you are Marielle, a person, an individual. You just so happened to be a mixture of a human and a vampire. What you are doesn't define who you are."

Marielle began to blink rapidly. She wasn't trying to hide any upcoming tears. No, she was trying to calculate if this was the realm of reality or fantasy. Never in her life had anyone categorized her as an individual—not her father, not any else. Yes, they treated her with mutual respect—if you ignored the Bosmers trying to attack her and Lucien's rudeness—but that was all it was, nothing more. This couldn't be right. Why would someone want to see her as a person now? There had to be some type of ulterior motive, especially if a vampire says that she is a person and not an abomination to his race.

Distrust flashed through the eyes of the woman before him, and Vicente immediately understood why. "I have no reason to feed you lies. But if you must make such a big deal about your heritage, then allow me to tell you that it isn't something to be upset about."

Sure, if knowing that you will be rejected by everyone if they found out your secret is considered something to not be upset about. That wasn't the point at the moment, though. What caught her off guard was the fact that it was a vampire telling her that being a half breed wasn't a bad thing. It infuriated her, but somehow the soothing atmosphere kept her from going off—at least she liked the think that it was the atmosphere. "I find it ironic that _you_, of all people, would say something like that."

"What is the point in getting upset over something that you cannot change?" His eyes were distant as if he was reminiscing. "You were born this way and had been the same way your entire life. The fact that you are just now figuring out what you are nineteen years later changes nothing."

Marielle wanted to be angry. She wanted to scream at the vampire, telling him that he didn't know what he was talking about. She wanted to revel in the fact that even if she _was_ an individual that it wouldn't change the fact that she was still alone. She wanted to do all of these things and so much more, but she couldn't. A logical part of her mind refused to let her disrespect the vampire, and she didn't know why. All she could get out was a faint whisper, telling him that he was wrong.

"Am I? Perhaps you will understand my point if I phrased it differently. The way that you detest what you are is like saying that you detest what your mother was. I understand that you are upset because you feel that your genes will interfere with your life, but you are your mother's daughter, her legacy. Shouldn't that be reason enough to accept who you are?"

Marielle cast her gaze downward to hide the pain that she was just stricken with. She loved her mother more than anything, and when Vicente put it like that, she couldn't help but think that she had let her mother down in a sense.

She closed her eyes and inhaled a large breath, enjoying the euphoric scent that came with it. It soothed her a bit. "Yes, I am my mother's daughter, but your lesson on why I should love myself doesn't change the fact that I was destined to be alone by being a mix of natural enemies."

"Have you not realized that the fact that I am here with you now contradicts your statement?"

Burgundy eyes opened gradually, running over the figure before her, and Marielle swallowed hard, nervous about the situation that she was in. She didn't even know this male, but he had already put forth the most effort to try and reach out to her. The thought alone terrified her.

After some time of analyzing the emotion riddled eyes of the woman before him, Vicente deciphered the look and raised a pale eyebrow at his discovery. "You aren't lonely because of you heritage, you are lonely because you fear the act of letting anyone penetrate the barriers that you've placed around yourself."

Closing her eyes, Marielle cringed. Apparently, today was the day to receive tons of truths about herself, and honestly, she was more than a little exhausted mentally. She didn't want to think or feel anymore, not until she was ready to come to terms with all of the thoughts that were plaguing her mind.

Seeing her weariness, Vicente knew that their current discussion was over. "There is no need to trouble yourself with so many things at once." He thought for a second, searching for something that would clear Marielle's mind. "There is food downstairs—you must be hungry."

Thankful for the distraction, she inhaled another large amount of the scent that she had come to depend on to calm her nerves. Opening her eyes, Marielle looked at the male before her. It felt odd to have someone act like they cared about her needs, and she sort of liked it.

It then dawned on her that a vampire was speaking to her about food, and she wondered if he meant giving her blood as food. "Um, you are talking about regular food, right?"

Another chuckle emitted from the vampire, and Marielle found herself unable to describe a more beautiful sound. "Sithis, yes. I don't expect for you to drink blood. However, if you want to, then I'll take you to feast on Antoinetta, or would you prefer Gogron?" He had to keep a straight face as Marielle went paler than he thought possible even for her. "Or I suppose that I can provide you with whatever you would prefer to consume."

It took a moment, but the smile on Vicente's face told Marielle that he was just joking. Her look of horror turned into a glare as she dryly told him that he was not in the least funny.

Vicente held out his right hand in an invitational sort of way toward Marielle. "Let us go." He kept his hand in place, waiting patiently for the woman to make up her mind.

Marielle's eyes drifted to the extended hand, resting there longer than necessary. It seemed like a pact between the two, but she knew that it wasn't—she was just overthinking things. Slowly, she took a step forward, and she found her hand reaching out to his. Her actions weren't able to be explained, but she was pretty sure that if she was thinking logically, then she would have told him to go screw himself forty different ways. But she wasn't thinking straight, so that response didn't come from her.

She told herself that maybe she wanted to try something new in the form of willingly allowing physical contact. Maybe she just needed to have some form of contact if only to experience the feel of someone's skin against hers again. Maybe she had come to the realization that absolutely nobody else would be as patient and understanding with her and her problems. Or maybe she had realized that on some level or another that she needed this vampire if she wanted to understand herself and overcome her obstacles as a half vampire.

As she neared his outstretched hand, she paused. Horizontally going across Vicente's palm was a burn mark. From the looks of it, it was almost healed, but Marielle could tell that it had to have been pretty nasty when he received it. A thought then crossed her mind, and she found herself reaching for his left hand at his side, forgetting all about her comfort zone boundaries. Stopping when she realized what she was doing, she looked up to meet the pink gaze that she could feel bearing down onto her. Instead of a displeased or angry look, Vicente had a curious expression. Taking this as a sign to continue, Marielle ignored the part of her that told her to stop and grabbed his left hand, turning it palm side up. Just like the right hand, it held a burn mark, too.

Pieces of the puzzle began to put themselves together, and she found herself dropping his cold hand and taking a step backwards. Her eyes widened, and she forced herself to inhale a sharp breath due to the fact that she was holding her breath. The scent that flooded her nostrils from Vicente wasn't just familiar because it reminded her of her mother—it was the same scent that Nature had.

Marielle's head started spinning with numerous thoughts, forcing her to close her eyes. In this cold world of pain and hatred, a _stranger_ had selflessly_ saved _her life at the cost of his own discomfort. A vampire had willingly touched a silver arrow despite receiving burns from it for the sake of her life.

She didn't understand him. She didn't understand how that one act could effortlessly tear down her barriers that kept others at bay. Yet one by one, her mental walls came down, and she found herself grateful for his actions—she found herself knowing that she could _trust_ him with her life, as it had already been in his hands once.

Trust was a word that didn't exist in her vocabulary because she never gave it to anyone. Yet this vampire before her had jumped over her walls, penetrating her defenses. He had acquired what she had assumed no one could.

The dull feel of the ground colliding with her knees caused Marielle to open her eyes. She was unaware of the fact that her legs had given out, but that ceased to matter. On his knees before her was Vicente. She searched his eyes for any indication that his worry for her was feigned, but she failed to find it.

She didn't hear her name being called, and she didn't feel the cold hand on her shoulder. She did, however, smell the earthy scent that only creatures of the night gave off. The dark atmosphere seemed to shift, wrapping her in a blanket of darkness, welcoming her home, and promising her protection.

Marielle knew that her life wasn't going to be easy—it never had been. She knew that she would have to endure the pain that the world had so mercilessly bestowed upon her. However, she knew that it didn't matter anymore. She knew that she would be alright from this point on because she felt that she was no longer alone.

With depleting self-preservation, her shields came down. All of her suppressed scars from the past resurfaced, bleeding fresh wounds as if they were just inflicted. It was too much to hold in, and she broke down like the other two times since her father's death. Unlike the other times, however, she poured all of her pain out, holding absolutely nothing back.

Unknowingly, she clutched onto the vampire in front of her, holding onto him as if he was her lifeline. And perhaps he was.

**Chapter End**

Forget what I said about the last chapter being torturous because this one took the prize. I literally spent weeks actively working on this. Weeks! Yes, this is my summer break from college. Yes, I did fry a lot of brain cells from thinking too hard for this chapter. Okay, enough ranting.

Yay, Vicente appeared! The fangirl inside of me was going crazy while I wrote this chapter! I mean… yay, the family was introduced! It doesn't sound the same. Anyways, tell me what you think about the characters in this chapter because I'm worried that my portrayal of them sucked. Then again, I worry about everything that I type. Along with the family, would you mind telling me how it felt to seriously delve deep into Marielle's mind? And before anyone says it, no, she did not fall in love with Vicente.

Remember, reviews tell me that I can't sleep in late all summer despite not having any classes until September. Oh, and cookies go to whoever picked up on what Antoinetta's parting statement meant.


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