Summary

Born into Altmer nobility, Estoril lead a privileged life until it was torn away. She is not the Dragonborn that anybody had expected or hoped for. She doesn't care about saving the Nords and is an outcast among the people whom she faithfully served. A story about the mental degeneration and eventual insanity of an individual with the potential to wreak havoc on Tamriel.

Disclaimer

I only own the plot and my original characters.

A/N SEPTEMBER 2018

Hi to all of you that are new to my story! Disregard the original publish date. I am back and am currently updating! I went back through the whole story and polished it up a bit back in February without changing any major plot points. Recently, I gave the whole story a much needed face-lift by completely rewriting the intro and the summary.

Original A/N

I love writing and reading about villain protagonists. Also, I think the Thalmor are a fascinating faction and Skyrim did not do them justice. That is not so say that my villain protagonist is evil due to the fact that she is a member of the Thalmor. I intend to make clear that there are many sub-factions within the Thalmor.

I'm going to explore various dark themes including psychological and physical abuse, so if that bothers you don't read it.

Furthermore, I do not claim to know everything about the lore despite my ongoing and previous research.

Thank you, and enjoy!

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Prologue

Solitude- Skyrim

Loredas, 6th Day of Frostfall, 4E 201

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The quill quivers in my fingertips as I keep it poised above the sheet of parchment.

Again.

Looking around, all I can see are mountains of white; pages I have previously discarded. These snowy sheets contrast sharply with the grey of the prison cell walls.

Grey.

Such a drab (yet dangerously ambiguous) color.

That is something profound and intriguing that someone in my situation might say, right?

I mean, after all, the walls of this dingey prison cell are grey and made of lies that keep me from spreading what I know - have always known - to be true! They keep me here with their cold, stone facade...

By Auri-El, I really have gone mad. I am beginning to assign walls moral compasses!

But perhaps, considering the current circumstances, my going mad should be an expected consequence. My solitude is stifling, and I can practically feel the walls closing in. And try as I might, I cannot quite gauge how long it has been since I was first thrown into this cell - my own personal slice of Oblivion. It could have been years ago... Or days, I really cannot tell...

I am filthy and my long, black hair is matted against my head. My dress and outer robe are in a deplorable state. This is unacceptable. I can practically feel the layers upon layers of dirt that must have accumulated onto my skin during my time here. On more than one occasion I have begged the guards (pitifully) to allow me to bathe. All I have received as a response was laughter.

So this is what I have been reduced to? Am I now nothing more than one to be shoved aside, laughed at and mocked?

It would certainly seem so.

They are all laughing at me -the walls, that is. They mock me because they are able to serve their purpose of keeping me from mine. And yes, if walls are going to be allowed to have moral compasses they might as well be allowed to laugh too!

I ball my fists and stare intently at the blank sheet in front of me. Perhaps this time it will turn out right. This letter... It has to be perfect - and convincing, yes, very convincing. I furrow my brows as I scrutinize the words I have written thus far. So far so good. My elegant script forms honeyed words, and at the top - a name - Master Sinyir. My old teacher... Yes, he will help get me out of this mess. He's good at that... cleaning up messes. He'll help... he'll help.

"Oh, why don't you shut your mouth! Quit all that racket, you're giving me a damn headache!"

I hear the guard mocking me again. I do not look up. He cannot read my mind. He cannot read my mind. He cannot read my mind...

"I don't have to read your damn mind! You're practically shouting everything that crosses it!"

I squeeze my eyes shut and do my best to block out the guard's griping. In any other circumstance I would not have allowed him to talk back to me with such blatant disrespect! But my current circumstances cannot be helped, and I am forced to endure this... I am forced to endure these humans treating me as if I were less than them, and insane to boot!

Oh! I cannot bear this stress! It is making me sick to my stomach. And for perhaps the millionth time since the beginning of my incarceration, I pine after my homeland. I miss the Summerset Isles. I wish for nothing more than to return and bask in all their balmy, elegant glory. Everything is so cold here. Skyrim is a harsh, primitive land populated by the most savage human specimens I have ever encountered.

This homesickness really is unbearable.

Certainly, escape is an option that I have previously explored - but in vain. These degenerate guards were clever enough to keep me in a state of malnutrition and exhaustion, yet, not in one so severe that it would result in my death. And so, I am unable to recharge my Magika enough to be of any real threat to them.

Now this letter is my last and only hope. Tears spring to my eyes as I glance desperately back down to the sheet of paper on the table in front of me. Will I even be permitted to have it sent?

Oh, but I must...I must...I must... I must get out of here! There is so much that I have yet to accomplish!

I never wanted to be the Nord's hero. In fact, being their 'hero' is rather underwhelming. Where has my so called 'destiny' gotten me other than thrown into a cell to rot for all eternity?

Although, one might argue that I did not stick to their narrative - the 'destiny' that had been laid out before me - precisely as I was supposed to. I had wanted to follow my own, mould my 'destiny' into something a bit more palatable for an ex-Thalmor Senior Officer. My loyalties had never lain with the Nords. Quite frankly, I already had a people - a cause - to whom I had essentially sworn eternal fealty. Doing it a second time would have been rather insincere on my part.

And although my people may have given up on me, I have not given up on them - not one bit. These damn humans had better pray to their 'almighty Talos', because once I am free - and I know I will be free...I will - not even he will be able to save them.