The guardsman started to enjoy his watch. The Imperial City prison was supposed to be a filthy, unpleasant experience for the inmates, and the guards were supposed to make it worse for them. But this one, Felius Ciro, had a reason to be distracted from his kicking of slop buckets and spitting on prisoners: there was one woman in a cell, a Bosmer, who he found nothing short of captivating. This evening, she was lying back on the layer of fur robes Felius had fetched for her recently, her body stretched lazily as she rested her head on a bucket, reading a book. That, too, was a gift of his to her. It wasn't much: The Disaster at Ionith; but anything to cure her boredom during the day was going to put her in a better mood when he could come and talk to her.

She saw him in the corner of her vision and put the book down on her stomach. 'Oh, hello Felius.' In the dim light she looked almost ghostly, and he wondered how she was able to read in almost complete darkness. He supposed it was because her eyes would have adjusted to the darkness after two months in prison.

He touched his helmet lightly, muttering 'miss.' He was rewarded with a little smile, her white teeth showing brightly when her pale lips parted. He walked on quickly, checking on all the other cells as briefly as he could, and shortly returned to talk to her. The two of them sat down on either side of the barred door. 'Chilly tonight,' he grunted. She shrugged her thin shoulders lightly.

'Is it? It's always cold down here,' she said, her voice thin and quiet so that the other inmates didn't notice her.

'Sorry, hold on,' Felius said as he stood up, walked down the corridor for a moment and fetched a torch from a wall bracket. He carefully passed it through the bars, and she propped it up in her empty water pitcher.

'Thank you, Felius,' she said, rubbing her hands. She looked particularly pale tonight, he thought. 'How is your mother?' He sighed, frowning.

'She managed to walk downstairs for breakfast this morning,' he said, 'but was exhausted afterwards.'

'It's a start, isn't it?' she said. 'Last week you said she couldn't even open her eyes – who knows, with any luck in a few more weeks she'll be well enough to walk around for a whole day. Look on the bright side!'

He smiled weakly and nodded. 'I suppose so. But she was well before her illness, so she might get bad again…' The Bosmer frowned. She had youthful features and a smooth complexion, but her eyes had the depth of wisdom, as if she were older than she looked.

'I wish I could help,' she said softly. 'But obviously-' she reached out and tapped the bars with a long, dirty fingernail '-not possible in here.' Felius said nothing for a moment, pondering. Most of the prisoners didn't like to talk about it, but he'd been her friend for a while now, so…

'Why are you in here, anyway? If you don't mind me asking,' he added quickly. She smiled sweetly, silently, as she paused.

'Murder.' Her eyes flashed slightly savagely when she said it, but Felius wondered how anyone that looked so innocent could commit something so terrible.

'Who?'

'My brother. He…defiled me. Twice.' She looked away for an instant, her usually strong but quiet exterior faltering before she turned back to face him.

'You should have reported him,' Felius said. 'He would be here instead of you.' This was a macabre conversation, and he was beginning to regret asking her now. But she had no scruples about it, apparently, for she continued:

'Well, that was the first murder. And I certainly don't regret it.'

'The first?' He should be afraid of her, he thought, he should be terrified or disgusted, but all he could muster in his heart was more fascination in this woman. She seemed to surprise him with some little bit of information about her every time they spoke.

'Yes, because that was…something of an epiphany for me, when I killed him,' she said. 'It's a long story – do you have time?'

'My shift doesn't end for hours,' Felius said. 'I've got time.'

And so Yufiza Meldor told her story.

I'm probably going to sound quite shocking to you. I'm not going to shy away from the grisly details, because I don't want you to think that I haven't been affected by the events of my life. I have, to the point where the pictures have been imprinted into my memory so clearly I can see them now, with my waking eyes. I will share them with you.

I was seventeen years old, living with my family in a reasonable sized house in Anvil. My older brother, Shiroth, was only a year older than me, and I thought him strikingly odd – he didn't seem to have any friends, he didn't have a job, he spent all his time at home. Things like that. Meanwhile I liked to spend my time with a few other girls in town, and an awful lot of our energy seemed to be spent in baiting Shiroth. We were hardly fair to him, and he hated us with a passion.

One night he decided he'd get revenge; on the most subversive, devious and cruel person in the gang. Me. I was always the one who managed to creep into his room unnoticed while he sat down and read books or just pondered by his fireplace; I was always the one who managed to steal his things under his nose, or pinch him and get away unscathed. I was the one who laughed the hardest. It was about two in the morning when he walked into my own room. I was reading by candlelight, and this time I was the one who was caught by surprise when he extinguished the candle with a pinch, slapped the book out of my hand and leapt on top of me furiously.

'Get off me!' I squealed. 'Shiroth, I'll tell mother – go away, you pervert!'

'Shut up,' he hissed, slapping me hard across the face to make his point. He was much stronger than me, broad where I was skinny and strong where I was thin. He didn't even bother to pull the duvet over us, or to undress me or himself fully. He just loosened his britches, lifted my nightdress and forced himself into me. I was a virgin. I was in so much pain I wanted to cry out, but every time I squeaked or even breathed too loudly Shiroth would just hit me again, and so I could only lie underneath him as he raped me bloody. I won't elaborate on that – the memory still sickens me.

'If you tell anyone,' he said as he got up, 'I'll kill you. And that friend of yours, the little Breton bitch.' And at that he left, and I could only lie there and cry myself to sleep.

He had won. He could have just tried to prank me back somehow, and I would have just suffered mild indignation. But instead he wounded me deeply, taking my pride and my virginity with it as if that were a balanced retaliation. I didn't go out and meet my friends the next day, but that night he came in again, and did the same. It wasn't as painful that time, but the injustice of it hurt horribly. Doing it once was crime enough, but doing it a second time sealed his fate.

The next night I murdered him. He came into my room and I didn't even protest as he lifted my nightdress, but he paused in confusion when I giggled. He loosened his grip on my wrist, and there lay his downfall because at that moment I reached for the steak knife under my pillow and plunged it into his throat. I twisted away from him and stood beside him as he choked on my bed, staining it in his own blood, and as he looked at me with a withered, frightened expression, I grinned as daintily as I could before taking the knife out and shoving it into his crotch. A spurt of blood reached my white nightdress and stained it, and though I tried to rub it off I ended up smearing it there.

But of course I told you that was my first murder, didn't I? Well, that much is true – but your friends in the Imperial Watch don't know about it, because it later turned out somebody got in and changed some things; I'll get to that part later in the story. Well, after that killing I couldn't stay at home and be caught. I knew my family would disown me, or worse. So I fled that instant, still in the bloody nightie, and snuck past the gate guards to leave Anvil.

I walked for a long time, wearing my slippers down and blistering my feet. It was dawn when I finally stopped, collapsing on the ground and falling to sleep in the long grass, somewhere. I hadn't paid any attention to where I was going, just that I wanted to get as far away from home as possible. My parents were aloof from me anyway, I told myself. They wanted to marry me off to someone local and not do an awful lot with my life. Most of my friends were probably going to be carted off like that, I thought.

I was awoken in darkness. Well, dimness. I was lying on a dirty straw mattress in the corner of an underground chamber of an Elven ruin. There were a few torches lit around the place, and I saw two grubby looking Nord men with axes and bows slung over their shoulders, chatting to one another. They spotted that I had awoken, and one of them looked at me with a wolfish grin on his face.

'Our songbird has woken up,' he said. His friend turned and chuckled. My head felt heavy and my sight was a little blurred, but I was still aware enough to know that these men were bandits. I had heard about how they used old ruins as hideouts, stealing the ancient treasures and avoiding the authorities as they plundered the place before moving on.

'Well, we haven't made her sing yet…' the other one said, taking a step towards me.

'We will, I think,' the first man growled, winking at me. 'You'll be a good little girl, won't you darling?' I hesitated for an instant, and then, deciding, I stood up and ran. I got past the two of them and spotted some stairs. Heading for them, I could see sunlight at the end – but something was blocking it. Two more bandits, an Imperial man and an Altmer woman, were there. They caught me and dragged me kicking and screaming back down the stairs and past the two Nords. As I was thrown back into my corner, I managed to snatch the dagger from one of their belts. They didn't notice, mercifully, but for the rest of that day set a watch on me. I heard snippets of conversation as various members of the gang arrived and left throughout the day, and I overheard that I was being "saved" for their leader, who would return later that night.

You've killed once, I told myself. With a hidden knife, you did it. Do it again tonight – but bide your time!

I did. I was never patient in my childhood, but the sequence of events since I had plotted my brother's death had forced me to change, so that I was more capable of waiting for the opportune moment before striking. Even as I felt lost and alone, I was planning the end of the boss. I can escape like I did before, I told myself. Throat first, that'll shut the scum up.

It worked perfectly. Most of them were asleep when the boss returned to the hideout (which I later learned was Vilverin, not far from this prison), and the only one left awake went to bed as soon as he had pointed the boss in my direction. He was a fairly tall Imperial, and he was quite happy to get straight to business – I could tell from the glint in his eye and the bulge in his trousers, and the way his hands quickly undressed me.

Wait for it.

He bent down and kissed me roughly, his hands roving up and down my sides.

Wait for it.

He pulled his shirt off, fondled me for a moment as if he thought I enjoyed it, and then lay down on top of me.

Wait for it…

Now!

I slashed the knife straight across his neck, covering myself in his blood as he choked in silence. I rolled out from underneath him, kissed his cheek, and stood up with blood on my hands, my face, my skin. I picked up my filthy nightdress, quickly slid it on despite its unpleasant condition, and in the same slicing motion I cut the throats of the bandits as they slept, taking a pair of leather boots and a belt to tie the knife to. Then I fled, and once again I was out on my own – but this time, I think, a little wiser of the world, and less traumatised by the deaths I had just caused. It seemed almost normal to me.

After washing in the Nibenay, I realised I had nowhere to go.

I sat down and let the cool night soothe me, and that was when I was given hope. I was found by the Dark Brotherhood.