A/N: Hey, y'all, and welcome to The Bloodmoon Prophecy. I am excited to announce that it's now finished and I am ready to start officially posting this story publicly!

I'm aware that the previous installments in this series were rated T, but this one has been bumped up to M simply due to stronger language at times and more mature themes. Not by much, but I feel it's better to be safer than sorry.

- Morrowind and The Elder Scrolls belongs to Bethesda Game Studios
- Julan Kaushibael, and any characters associated with his storyline/mod belong to the wonderful Kateri. I cannot provide a download link here, as FFN is still not allowing links on my profile, but you can find it on the AO3 version.

Anyways, enjoy!


Prologue

5th of Rain's Hand, 3E 429

"Ow!"

All I could feel was excruciating pain from Serethi tearing the knots out of my hair. I felt as if my entire scalp would be torn away from my head. Serethi sighed.

"Keep still, Ulina," she snapped, before proceeding to pull the brush through my hair again. I turned to Eriama, who was sitting across from us in a comfortable looking chair, seemingly bored with her environment. She kept fidgeting in ways that normally irritated Serethi. I was waiting any moment for her to just blow up.

"Eriama, stop that now," Serethi snarled. "I know you are angry because I said you couldn't go out and play this Loredas, but until you learn to stop disrespecting me, you won't."

Eriama said nothing, and my eyes darted towards the scars on Serethi's arms. They were starting to fade, but I could still see them in the light.

"Serethi?"

"Yes, Ulina?"

"Did you hurt yourself?" I nodded towards the scars on her arms.

Serethi blanched.

"Of course I did," she said.

"But how?"

"Never you mind," she said quickly in response. I decided I wasn't going to get very far when speaking to Serethi, as she never wanted to talk about herself. Or anything at all, really.

My thoughts were suddenly interrupted when I heard the front door open. My father entered the room, and then frowned slightly.

"Ulina's hair is getting everywhere," he told Serethi as a way of greeting. I tried not to scowl. That was just another reminder of how much I hated having the bushy, red hair that I did. How come everyone else in my family was lucky to have dark, straight hair but I had this? It made no sense.

Serethi scoffed in response.

"You can brush her hair instead, if you prefer, Sera I-Never-Know-How-To-Do-Anything," she told him scathingly. "And while you're at it, convince her she needs to have her hair brushed every day. You know what she's like."

Serethi was about to begin the process of braiding my hair now as well, and at that time I was fed up. I hated having my hair braided. Serethi's braids always felt like heavy weights pulling my hair down.

"I hate my hair," I suddenly declared. At that point, Eriama, who had been pretending to read a book for the past few minutes, looked up in surprise.

My father chuckled.

"Ulina, you are only ten years old," he said. "You are too young to hate anything."

"But I do!" I insisted. "It's red and curly and a mess. Why can't it be more like yours or Eri's or -"

My father then suddenly burst out laughing. I heard Serethi sigh. I turned to Eriama, who was watching the scene with interest.

"I think you got your hair from your mother's side of the family," he remarked.

I saw Eriama scowl.

"Father, you said our mother looked like me," she suddenly spoke, after being silent for most of the time. Father nodded.

"Yes, Eri, she did," he told her, before turning back to me. "But, Ulina...I never said you looked like your mother...although you do, in a way. I said you took after her side of the family."

"Enough, Dranen," Serethi snapped, using a dark tone I had never heard from her before. She turned to me. "Ulina, I've finished with your hair now. Eriama, come here please."

The sounds from outside the window suddenly caused me to remember where I was. Solstheim, not Cyrodiil. I was no longer a child. My family was a family no longer. And my hair was in the worst state it had ever been in. I suddenly became painfully aware of my surroundings; I was in a small, cramped room in an old fort, trying to sleep on an old, tattered bedroll. Outside, I heard the sounds of now happy soldiers cheering, after many miserable sober months. I didn't entirely blame them. They had been surrounded by no one except themselves, and the prisoners. And considering most of the prisoners were murderers, rapists and traitors, they didn't make for the best company.

Yes, on my first day on this isolated island, I had apparently turned Fort Frostmoth into the opposite of what it was. Nuncius didn't really like others having fun, you see. Good thing he ended up getting his comeuppance in the end.

Somehow, I had found myself here on this island as well, mostly with the hope that no one and nothing would find me and bother me ever again. I felt like a failure and as if I had been cheated. Somehow, deep down, I knew it was foolish to hope for such a thing, but I felt I owed it to myself and everyone else to try.

I picked up my large, heavy and ink stained journal from beside me, flipping through pages upon pages of my life over the past two years. Knowing I wasn't going to sleep anytime soon, I jumped to the next empty page and began to write the last part of my story.