Author Note: This little thing sprang to mind when I was in the middle of writing another fanfiction I have yet to publish. That fanfiction is a romantic one, and the romance is between my Wood Elf Eva and Cicero (believe it or not). I wanted to give Cicero's personal thoughts on what happened in the story, and here we are! I like to think that he's writing little letters to the Night-Mother, like a diary. Who knows what goes on in that little creep's mind?
Disclaimer: Me no own, you no sue.
Warning: Spoiler Alert! Read at your own risk!
Sweet Mother, sweet Mother, we have arrived! The Skyrim sanctuary isn't nearly as homely as the Chedyinhal one in Cyrodiil, but no matter. We like it all the same. It is a cave, Mother. A cave! Dark and decaying and desolate. I would be so terribly insulted to have a place blessed with your touch in a cave. A kind stranger helped us on the road, Mother. A benevolent, caring stranger. An elf! She had lovely eyes; like diamonds. But of course not as lovely as yours, Mother! No, no. Not as lovely as your unseeing, rotten eyes. Cicero hopes he won't stumble across the elf's broken, mutilated body. What a pity that would be! She had such lovely eyes. Cicero wanted to pluck them out and keep them close to his heart, perhaps on a string? Then Cicero could swing them. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. Silver! Like the moon, the stars that twinkle and giggle and whisper. Such eyes, like the very stars themselves. The stars burn and glitter. They would burn poor Cicero if he were to touch them. But her eyes would not! No, they would ring like a million silver bells. They would ring and sing, those dear little . Astrid is calling. The fallen star. Doesn't she irritate you, Mother? I wish you'd speak to me. This silence is such a lonely friend. It teases me, Mother. The Silence. It cuddles up to poor Cicero at night, licking between the shoulder blades. It perches on my chest and stares at me with it's monstrous eyes. Make the Silence go away, Mother. Only your sweet, sweet voice can make it disappear. I want to hear what you have to say about that annoying shrew of a woman. Be well, Mother. She calls for me. She calls. Like a mournful bird with only one song, she calls.
My, my. Cicero, you little nutter. I hope you enjoyed the first entry, please read and review yadda yadda yadda.
Lisbet. x