Umbra Mirage
Summary: It wasn't exactly consistent, but it happened enough that he took notice. Cicero just couldn't pinpoint what it was.
A little something for a prompt over on the elder scrolls kink meme.
There was something warm running over his cold skin. It was gone in the next second though, as what felt like a tongue ran over his skin, leaving him cold again. Colder if possible as the footsteps echoed in his mind on their way out of the room and back into the hall.
Whoever it was hadn't radiated heat though, so why had he felt warm for a moment? Why was he so cold now?
Even when he opened his eyes the feeling hadn't gone away. What an odd dream. He usually never had company in his dreams. It usually consisted of the Void; absent of sound, of life, of heat. And the Unholy Matron of course.
Ah, the Night Mother, he needed to oil her again.
With that thought in mind he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, vision swimming for a moment. Little dots dancing across, and for a moment he wondered if there were pieces of someone's soul from the Void looking to play. They faded away quickly, leaving him alone again. Still too cold. Even for one living underground with the rest of the remnants of the Dark Brotherhood it shouldn't be this cold.
Perhaps it had always been this cold or it was the Night Mother's way of telling him something terribly wrong was going on here. But he already knew that! Astrid and that obnoxious man she called her husband who had the gall to insult the Listener whenever she was in hearing distance were the worst. Most of his supposed brethren didn't even respect their Unholy Matron!
None of that right now, though. He could tell the Night Mother his suspicions about the false leader in a moment. Now where had he put the oil?
Let me know what you think.
