He's here, I can feel it; I can't see him, or hear him, but of course, how else could he have killed everyone without me even suspecting if he wasn't subtle.
It started out so innocently; just a spontaneous party, I should have known there was more to such a mysteriously simple get together, but I can't blame myself, they fell for it too, and paid with their lives. 'He' was so friendly and warm, apparently a façade, 'he' had a name, but I now believe that was an alias, or perhaps not, Mor'tar'iit doesn't sound like a common Dunmeri name, it's too exotic. Regardless, I will not refer to him as his supposed name, even in my own thoughts.
The first victim: Dovesi the Dunmer, she was obviously stabbed to death, but the evidence didn't point to 'him' at all, the bloodied knife was that of Primo', and he did act strangely the next morning. The next to die was Primo himself, who dropped dead right in front of me at the dining table, the poor dear. It was the subsequent victim who I thought to be the killer; Nels the Nord, he was killed by Neville the Redguard, and I thought it was all over, until I eavesdropped on a conversation between Neville and 'him', Neville seemed convinced that I was the killer somehow, it was all so perplexing to listen to, but then 'he' killed Neville, and I raced out from my hiding spot to thank him, but then 'he' confessed that he was the killer, terror was released instantaneously throughout my mind, an aberration of fear, I turned and ran, knocking a painting hung upon the wall from its peg, it clashed and shattered on the ground as I rounded the corner and fled to the basement; which brings me to this moment.
I didn't hear him pursuing me, but there is nowhere to hide, my rabbit-heart is racing faster than it ever has, and feels as if it will implode. I try my hardest to annul the rushing sound of my panicked breath, and only half succeed, then I listen carefully for any revealing noise within the clammy walls of the basement. A moment of gruelling concentration passes, and all is deathly silent until I hear the abrasive sound of metal dragging across stone, it lazily trails across the ground until it abruptly ceases, then I see him. He stands peculiarly on the other side of the room, a double sided axe in hand, the bulk of the weapon contrasts conflictingly with his slim frame.
I vigilantly step side-ways, keeping my eyes on him as he mimics my movements, three columns connecting floor to roof pass between us, he moves casually with the enormous axe swinging mockingly in one hand, and his head tilted with an outlandish grin, every-time my careful view of him is frayed by a pillar; I panic.
"Poor Matilde, so alone, so alone," His voice trails off, and he begins to sing quietly, the melody only just audible in the silent void of the dim cellar;
"Come Matilde, walk with me in terrorisation, become the manifestation, of my occupation. Death Matilde! Death! It welcomes you coldly, and I admit you so boldly, tis not to be feared. Yes that's right, your face pales, the colour of death, for it never fails. Come with me Matilde, I will guide you on this unknown path, for the path I speak; I know too well. Can you hear it Matilde? Can you hear the bells, it's time to leave, and enter hell, some will weep, and some will mourn, for I promise Matilde; you will be re-born"
This malevolent song thrashes my heart and sends me loping towards the exit, I slam into the door and just manage to send it flying open on its protesting hinges, I emerge and trip over Nel's corpse as I round the corner and dash up-stairs. I arrive at the uppermost floor of the mansion, something stops me in front of the previously smashed painting. I'm no stranger to magic, so I comprehend that I am paralysed, I feel a coldness closing in from behind me, and then my knees forcefully buckle and firmly meet the solid ground. My gaze shifts to the ruined canvas, I get a glimpse through the broken shards of glass of the painting; it is of an eloquently dressed old woman kneeled down almost ceremoniously before a similarly dressed man, the man holds a large axe raised above his head, ready to bring it down upon the woman. It is a foreboding image, for I realise that the actual painting is of a cottage, and what I see is my reflection in the numerous shards of glass stacked upon each other against the fallen canvas. A voice sounds from behind me;
"Enjoying the party Matilde?"
Movement disrupts the stillness of the reflection, followed by a great force smashing down through my shoulder and into my chest, then the grip on the axe is released and I collapse forward, towards my fragmented reflection. My face drags through the array of broken glass and my body tumbles sideways, then all is still. I lay sideways on the floor, the beating of my heart tapping against the intruding blade of the axe lodged in my right shoulder. Blood clots in my hair, the tepid liquid creeps down my neck and pools around my left side-down face. A small piece of glass facing me permits an oblique reflection of my murderer; he stands motionless, his expression an enigma.
I close my eyes resignedly, and despairingly welcome death.