Full summary: "Show me the way back to being who I was, I don't want to be this way. My newfound powers scare me. I know that I am meant to save the world, but this time I wasn't powerful enough. It's quite the opposite case now. I don't want to repeat my ancestors' mistakes, and I know I don't want to be the second hero of my title to fall from grace. It was so tempting, came to easily, one breath of that power was so intoxicating that I found myself wanting more, and more. I couldn't stop. Not even when Miraak was finally defeated." The story of a fallen hero who is given another chance. There is a problem, however. The one who helped her reach back to the ground is the very being who started this whole mess that caused her life to spiral down into the hole that consumed her.

A/N: I started playing the new DragonBorn DLC finished it and kept thinking of how every character that I talked to kept telling my character that they would wind up just like Miraak if they tried to defeat him. The way Hermaeus Mora seems so possessive over the dragonborn in particular caught my attention, so I wondered about the possibility that it would truly happen.

. Also I have been listening to the song "Give Me A Sign" by Breaking Benjamin, and the plotline of this fic-idea kind of was a bit too influenced by the storyline/meaning of the song. I will, as usual, have Alduin as a major component to the story, as he doesn't seem to get as much attention on the site as he really should. I have noticed that most people like to write about the companions, personally not my favorite faction, but most people like them: I will not write about them merely because I don't carry a particular fondness for werewolves. Too furry.

By the way, for once the character is not an elf; even though I normally do like to have my protagonists be pointy-eared and fair it didn't fit the character I wanted to make for this fic idea. She will be a Breton this time around, and a mage.

I stood on the edge of a tremendous dream. The sky over my head was lit by the soft pinkish light of an eternal sunset, the lavender hills faded nicely into the sloped horizon. A flower slowly crept up the trunk of a nearby elm, tickling the bark slowly as it reached for the dying sunlight. The pale white blossom stretched its petals out towards me, leafy green vines outstretched to embrace my arms gently. That never managed to happen.

The light of the sun was gone, only darkness remained. An arrow shot from a certain bow had guaranteed that the atrocious star would never show its burning face again. The sky was a deep pitch, but I saw perfectly. Vampirism tends to have that effect. The flower shriveled and caught flame. Nothing remained but ash. The hills shot out violently, becoming large jagged mountains. The grass darkened and grew large, scythe-like spines. People frantically ran into their respective houses. Doors were barred. Windows were covered in rusted nails. People kept crossbows under their pillows. Not that it helped them any. Their houses were incinerated instantly. Not even a cinder remained of the wood. The townsfolk huddled in fear. I couldn't help but laugh, it amused me so, seeing them standing in a desperate huddle, as though they could offer one another protection. Harkon's ex-family descended on them in frenzy. I stayed back, this being a dream and all. The crazed rush of hungry vampires was a remarkable sight: they attacked the innocents relentlessly, spattered blood and gore on the streets, tore limbs apart, and devastated the once beautiful village.

A familiar voice was heard over the din and clatter of the feast. A deep voice I recognized easily. I pictured the smug bastard smirking behind that gods-awful mask that he never took off. He rushed at me with his sword drawn, but was quickly impaled on a large slimy mass of dark flesh. The surrounding life- or what was left of it that is- was coated in the grotesque limbs. This time through the mask fell of as he dissolved. Light brown hair fell across a pale, long face. Eyes the color of dying embers glared harshly at me from the dying face, as his hand reached forward slowly. His eyes softened, and the hand landed softy on my cheek, mouth opened to utter what could only be a warning of some sort. I never heard what he was saying, not that I wanted to listen anyway. As his mouth opened, the same tentacles that sprouted up so suddenly earlier slid up around my torso, possessively caressing my shoulder. Another familiar deep voice clashed with the other, but I could not hear what was said. Suddenly Miraak was a mere pile of ash, his warning naught but a drift of the wind.

Something wound its way tighter around my torso. I realized in shock that the limb that was squeezing me so much wasn't even a tentacle as I had originally thought. This was not Herma-Mora gloating over his recent victory. No, this was something I'd feared in the deep recesses of my mind, for to long. The only possible end to my new way of living. I was sooo used to the pain of my new life. I enjoyed it. It was all I was aloud to feel anymore. Now I was overtaken with my own fear, but hiding it well. I was good at hiding things, had to be with the kind of life that I lead. A thief, an assassin, a vampire lord, I even hid my name and title from those I loved back when they were still alive. I hid everything my whole life. My own husband never truly knew who I was. Poor Cicero never knew his listener's name. Even Astrid didn't know her killer's name. Not even Balgruuf or Lydia knew. Neither did Serana, Harkon, and Arngeir nor … well anyone. No one really knew. I pushed them away when they asked. Only one creature knew and now he was back from … My train of thought was lost as he squeezed around tighter.

"Eerresira," that voice, so familiar, whispered harshly into her ear. It was still only a dream. I would not be fazed. Dreams weren't real. I wouldn't let it get to me. I ignored the familiar being as it whispered familiar promises. I Feigned as if I didn't care when he reassured me that he was really there. I waited through the promise of rescue. I was too broken for rescue to do any good for me. I knew that. Hermaeus had seen to that. Stupid daedra always had to win didn't he? Apparently, someone wanted to beat him anyway. Or possibly two beings were competing to beat him. The voice kept sounding in my ear. I couldn't bring myself to care. I was trapped in Apcrypha anyway. I was relatively safe there: physically, not mentally, but still safe. Safe from death. That was what I cared about. The desire to leave hadn't kicked in. I was happy enough with the wide book selection not to be able to bring myself hate the daedric prince that held me. Not yet anyway. I might change my mind later. I simply stopped paying attention. I couldn't care anyway. I even said so outloud, he didn't stop talking though. I lost count and track of all the languages spoken in the conversation. I forgot which he was speaking in, and never noticed when he changed between the different tongues. I began to laugh manaically as I felt my dream world fading back to my semi-conscious state.

I could feel my body leaning heavily against a wall of books, but I was still trapped inside of my mind, as I had been for the past three months. My spectral form walked calmly through the darkened halls of my psyche. My own laughter echoed off the wall in a sinister manner, and my footsteps faltered. The intensity of my cackle increased, reaching an eerily unnatural decibel as it chased the rushing drafts to the far end of the corridor. My consciousness faded entirely into my head as I felt the light touch of a hand grazing my shoulder from within my dream.

"It happened again didn't it? The dream? We aren't ever going to escape you know. It's your own fault; I warned you this would happen." The owner of the hand spoke, the depth of his voice deceptively soothing, despite his dark tone.

"You are the one who started this damned mess you know." My voice sounded calmer, yet darker than his.

"You and I both know I am not the one who started this, I was merely a pawn in the plan. As you are now." His tone grew weary, and angry at the same time. Both emotions clashed for dominance.

"First Dragonborn… humph. Only reason anyone thought of you at all was because of damnable that title. Alduin thought you would be weaker because of your physical form. He told me he only kept you around because of who you were, and that he still didn't trust you. You're the one who pissed him off so bad as to bring this upon us both. And then, after betraying him you run to the daedra, expecting an easy escape. You brought this upon yourself, as did I. Just because you were created first doesn't make you better than me you know. He told me that I have even more of the dovah blood than you do, Miraak"

"As long as we are both trapped here we may as well work through this… little sister."

Dun dun dun….

A/N: well this is interesting… I honestly had no idea where I planned on going with this rate and review.I have low enough self esteem with out flaming, trolling, or any other form of extreme negativity. Constructive critism is fine though…