A Deadric armed figure opened the door to Breezehome. He walked further into the home, ignoring the stairs, and headed to the room in the back. The figure stared at the bed, with a mind full of memories. He released the straps holding his gauntlet and watched it fall to the floor. He slumped into the chair next to the bed and pulled out Mehrunes' Razor with his still armored hand. He placed the cold sharp edge of the blade on his forearm and took a deep breath.
Maybe this would be the day, seven years after the mistake, seven years after he lost his family, seven years of pain, seven years of trying to kill him self with this same dagger in this same spot, that he would finally succeed at joining his family. He pulled the dagger down his flesh and felt it effortlessly tear open his flesh. He felt the familiar wet, warm liquid leave his veins and drop on to his armored leg. He clenched his fist as he felt the sharp pain. His mind fogged and he felt as if this time he had succeeded at what he was trying to do. But that moment was short lived. The dagger fell from his grasp and clattered onto the floor, both stained with his blood, and his mind started to go blank. He knew this feeling, it was from shock not death. Damn his werewolf blood. He will have to suffer another year, with out his family. He slid off the chair and onto his hand and knees. The weight of his armor caused his arm to buckle, forcing him onto his side. He watches the blood flow from his arm and hopped that he would bleed out before his wolf could heal him. As he faded in to darkness he heared the door to his home open.