The Keeper's Lullaby
Chapter One
"Where are you going? I just told you that there wasn't any business to handle tonight." Vaudina Vicharelli stepped in front of door of their shared bedroom, effectively blocking off the only exit in the small room. Severia opened her mouth in frustration, but hesitated. What her mind told her she should say wasn't aligning with what was going to come out of her mouth if she spoke. And it frustrated Severia.
Instead of answering her sister, she merely walked up to the door and placed her hand on the doorknob. Vaudina pressed her back fully against the door, keeping it shut. "Where are you going?" she demanded again, eyebrows knit together in confusion.
Severia sighed and let go of the doorknob, if only to pacify her sister. "I want to go out for a bit. I'll be back."
"Why can't you stay in tonight?"
"After I've finished what I need to do, I'll come back."
The eldest sister crossed her arms and huffed. "How long will you be gone?"
Severia pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders, trying to stave off the chill that ran up her spine. She felt herself getting angry. She knew that was it. But she wasn't accustomed to the feeling and was trying not to let it affect her. She couldn't hold back the glare she shot toward her sister though. "I'll be back when I'm ready to."
Vaudina's mouth popped open slightly, and she slowly sidestepped to allow her younger sister passage.
And with that, Severia hurried up the stairs of the inn and out of the door. She wasted no time and set her walk straight toward the old well.
She had to know if what she felt the night before was real. Had to know what it had done to her if it was. Had to know who it was. It spoke to her, she was sure. Something in her clicked into place last night and it set her whole body on edge.
Upon reaching the well, she placed her palms on the edge and leaned forward. At first there was nothing. It was just a dusty old hunk of rocks that led into a dark pit.
But then it came. The feeling of… something, was there, pulling on her heart- making it palpitate. And she opened her mouth and sang once again for it.
There it was. The simultaneous feeling of her soul being drained and being filled to point of bursting. She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream. She wanted to laugh. Thousands of unknown feelings passed through Severia in the span of a second, and it was almost too much.
She felt those ethereal hands lovingly caress her forearms, and while it should've been unnerving, it was nothing short of blissful. Whatever was down there loved her.
It was an enigma that she'd die for.
It was dangerous. It was thrilling. And for the first time Severia felt alive.
Over time, she never did venture down into the well. Whatever she felt was calling her would push back the moment she tried to pry the grate from it's place on the well's entrance. She bounced between feeling welcomed and being intrusive. It was the most peculiar thing she had ever felt, and she came back almost every night for more.
Whatever her Enigma was doing for her, that seemed to be all it was. Severia would sing for it, but the moment she tried to find out more, her body would flood with such disappointment that it left her throat dry and chest uncomfortably tight. It was as if her Enigma was upset with her.
Like a mother chastising a child.
It never spoke to her again, either. Over time, Severia began to question if she had really heard the voice in her head that first night.
She always left that abandoned, dried up well feeling like someone completely different. The emotions and thoughts flooded her normally mundane mind and barren heart. Was she even Severia anymore? Or… had she even been the true Severia until now?
It was thrilling. It was a drug. It never failed to leave her breathless and craving for more.
It always wanted her to sing. Something pulled the notes straight from her vocal chords, and sometimes she wouldn't realize that she started singing until she was almost done her piece.
When her sister decided it was time to move on from Cheydinhal, Severia immediately protested. She refused to go anywhere, and said that if she wanted to leave, Vaudina could go without her.
That had made her stay.
When they struggled to find more work and their being able to stay in Cheydinhal was threatened, Severia spoke with one of the local beggars. After befriending him and dropping him the spare septim here and there, he told her about the thieves guild and what they do. She didn't necessarily like the idea of working with a group of people just to steal things, so she went on her own. When she started coming home with more money than was normal, Vaudina approached the young girl about it. After telling her that she had been stealing, Vaudina had given her the sternest talking to that she'd ever gotten from the older imperial. But as Severia continued coming home with more and more gold, Vaudina had merely sighed and told her to be more careful. She couldn't stop her younger sister, and once she had set her mind on something, it was done. And Vaudina often let Severia get her way.
As it turned out, Severia was actually quite good at stealing. She was short and light on her feet, and her tan skin and brown hair helped her blend into the shadows easier. Severia was actually surprisingly fond of stealing. The danger gave her body a thrilling adrenaline rush, something she'd never felt until her Enigma.
She'd slowly started increasing the danger in her heists, as well as making more friends in low places. There was a fence in Cheydinhal that frequently bought her goods, and would sell them out of the city so that it didn't seem as suspicious.
"You should really try your hand in the Imperial City," the fence had told her once. "There's so much more gold to be made there."
Severia had merely shook her head and told them that Cheydinhal was home and she couldn't stand to be gone for long. Most thought it was her sister's presence in town, but both sisters knew it was the old well.
After the first week of Severia sneaking out, Vaudina had followed to see what her sister had been getting into and merely found her singing behind the old abandoned house. She hadn't bothered to follow again. Vaudina had feared that her little sister had been seeing a man, and she knew firsthand just how terrible an influence they could be to a young woman.
Vaudina knew the song was special, and she knew better than to interrupt it.
But even as Severia aged into a grown woman of twenty, with hips that would make a priestess of Dibella blush, her eyes and thoughts never really strayed to men. She'd heard of the wonders of sex and the feeling it left the recipient with, but it sounded too similar to the rush she got from singing to her Enigma in the well. Why go through the trouble of finding and wooing a man, just to get a result she could've gotten with a fraction of the effort?
She bought a house for her sister as thanks for the years they spent in exile together, and Vaudina opened up an honest shop that sold produce from the local farms. Severia often funded Vaudina's shop a little extra so that when the town beggars came around, they would be given something to eat. The information they gave her had made her life as a thief much easier, and repaying the debt kept her in their high favor.
It also meant that they were a lot less likely to sell her out to the wrong people if someone suspected her.
Her nights out would often start out at the old well for good luck, singing to the unknown entity that enveloped her in a feeling one could only describe as love. It had taken Severia months to distinguish the feeling, and once the word came to her, she really felt it to it's full extent.
The one in that well loved her, and so she'd keep coming back to sing for it every night as long as it would allow. She may never quite know what exactly was in that well, but that was okay. It kept her feeling full and satisfied, and loved beyond measure.
Much better than rutting with some drunk from a pub.
She'd always leave the well feeling clear headed and rejuvenated and ready for a big heist.
On a normal evening at the old well, she'd heard the soft footsteps of someone approach her from behind. She didn't bother to look, for the occasional beggar would come to hear her song. Rumors of the Siren's song kept most citizens away, but the few homeless who knew her personally were never afraid. Instead, she began to pour out everything she felt in that moment to the one thing in life she felt anything for. The thing that gave her the gift of feeling.
When her song ended and her head became clear, she turned around to face whoever had interrupted her intimate moment. Whoever had approached her, however, was gone.
Cicero wrapped his arms tightly around himself, allowing his back to press up against the cold stone walls of the sanctuary. He couldn't escape the nervous giggles that erupted from his throat, and he stared blankly at one of the Black Hand tapestries that hung from the sanctuary walls.
He had taken a risk that he shouldn't have. Oh, but how poor Cicero felt so alive. He felt awful and foolish, but oh, how the song still caressed him in his mind.
The song, the song, the song. The song his little bird sang for him.
The sweet composition that lulled poor Cicero into sleep most nights. It was the only thing that silenced the laughter in his head. The two minutes out of his day when the maiden came to sing to poor Cicero was what gave him the strength to push through to the next morning. It helped the insomniac fight the restless nights, and he felt better after a night of being lulled to sleep through her song. On nights when she didn't come, however, he wouldn't sleep. Not a wink. And the first time she didn't show, it took everything Cicero had not to go and hunt the girl down.
No, it wasn't the Keeper's job to hunt. Oh no. That ended when he took the position of Keeper. If the song was a gift from Mother, then it was Mother's to give and take as she pleased.
But oh, how the waiting hurt.
But it wasn't like Cicero knew who this little bird was. He didn't know anything about her but for the sound of her voice as she sang that beautiful, heart-wrenching tune for poor Cicero.
But he felt he owed much to this woman. He knew she was a gift from Mother just as the jester had been. The jester was a big part of himself, and the laughter had made its home in Cicero years before he'd heard the song. But when the laughter no longer became enough, Mother gave him a little extra to keep him going. He owed every bit of his happiness to his beloved Matron.
And kept him going, it did. Before her, Cicero had not slept. He would pass out from exhaustion on occasion, and he lost track of the days. But with her song coming every night, at the same time, it kept him stable. He slept easily every time she sang to him, and the next day he would wake feeling rejuvenated. The appreciation for his new gift had made him an even better Keeper, polishing and preserving and cleaning the Night Mother and the makeshift shrine he had created for her daily.
It fought off his desire to seek company. He still desired to be with other people, but it was a leisure the Keeper wasn't allowed. He couldn't allow himself. Especially when the company he knew he'd seek would be from his little bird. Cicero couldn't risk a distraction like that.
Cicero let out a rattled sigh, letting himself slide down the wall to the cold floor. He gripped both knees with gloved hands and hunched over, allowing his head to rest on his wrists.
Oh, but it hadn't stopped poor Cicero from imagining.
His little bird had to be beautiful if her voice was anything to go by. She was likely a tall, shapely blonde imperial lady. Someone with shimmering ocean blue eyes that looked straight through oneself. With long, feathery, ebony lashes that would barely caress the peaks of her cheeks every time she closed her eyes. And oh, how her mouth must look. The mouth that filled poor Cicero with such joy and solace, oh how it must be plump and pink and beautiful.
He sighed, pulling on the red locks of hair that barely touched his shoulders.
But now poor Cicero had to leave. He had to leave with Mother.
It'd been long enough, and there is no Listener here. It was his duty to give his beloved Matron a Listener, and there was no Listener here, as much as he wished it so. He wished countless times that he could be his Mother's chosen, but alas, poor Cicero was not chosen.
However, Cicero had made the last minute decision to try and find out who his little bird was before leaving forever. Over the years, he'd convince himself he didn't need to know anything about the person behind the song, because the song was all he needed. But his time with his little bird was up, and after tonight he'd never see her again. Not that he'd seen her at all before anyway, but he'd never hear her voice again. Mother's new home was far, far away. He'd be reunited with his Dark Family once again. There would no longer be a need for his little bird's song.
If he sought her out tonight then that would be it, Cicero insisted. It would change nothing.
He would still leave, and his little bird would be nothing but a pleasant memory.
Surely Mother would understand this one weakness.
He had sneaked out through the passage in the abandoned house, and climbed through the hatch in the ceiling once night had fallen. He sat quietly on the roof of the abandoned house and waited for her approach.
When she finally did show, her entire figure was covered from head to toe in a large gray cloak, much to Cicero's dismay.
She was small. Much smaller than Cicero had expected.
Little bird, indeed. If she was full-grown, she had to be either an imperial or a breton girl. His little bird stepped up to the well, allowing her fingers, tan human fingers he noticed, to graze the stone of the old well. He lowered himself to the grass below with all the dexterity and stealth of a proper assassin, eyes never leaving the back of his little bird.
If she heard him, she didn't give away that she had. Instead, she wasted no time delving into her song.
Cicero froze, mind reeling.
She was but four feet away, and she was singing so clearly for him.
While at the bottom of the old well, the notes reverberated off the stone walls and surrounded Cicero with the natural, beautiful acoustics. It coated his entire being in her song, washed over him, and felt that that must be how the Listener feels when the Night Mother speaks to them.
But this.
It was clear.
Direct.
Personal. Like a conversation.
Cicero shuffled his feet slightly, not having the sense of mind to berate himself for making noise. When he felt the first drop of nervous sweat slide down the side of his face, he let out a shuddering breath. Part of him wanted to steal his little bird away for himself, because she was his. Mother had deemed it so. But if his little bird did not want to go with poor Cicero… that was a risk to the Night Mother he wasn't willing to take.
As the end of her song approached, he melded back into the shadows of the abandoned house. He'd wait there until she left. He'd see his little bird's face, at least. He would.
Cicero's heart sunk to his stomach when she pulled the hood of her cloak farther down her face before turning around. She quickly walked back the way she came, head hung low. He waited for just a moment after she left before jumping back down to the ground.
He whirled around the corner of the building to follow her, but she had already gone.
He shook his head to himself, ridding the thoughts of his mysterious little bird.
No. Mother came first. As Cicero made his way down the trap door of the well, he grumbled to himself, repeating over and over how foolish Cicero was a terrible Keeper.
Severia couldn't breathe. Something was wrong. The cold bite of Sun's Dusk chilled her to the bone, and all color left her face.
She stood at the foot of the old well, staring down into the shadows that housed her Enigma.
But there was no one.
She couldn't feel it.
She tried singing her song for the ethereal being, tried singing a different song even. But nothing came. No cold, loving hands wrapped around her shoulders or caressed her face. No pulling at her heart.
It was just an empty fucking well.
Panic flooded Severia in an instant, and she gripped the grate on the top of the well, pulling it off with a grunt. She had not been reprimanded and she felt like crying. To her surprise, there was an old wooden ladder leading down into the depths. Her breath hitched in her throat and she grabbed the rails to descend into the dark.
Her years of thievery had made her eyes adjust immediately to the almost pitch blackness that was the base of the well.
The well opened into a huge living area covered in ornate red rugs and wooden tables and chairs. The stone walls were high and sported banners with black hand prints. She wandered up to one of the banners, allowing her fingers to graze along the edge of the woven tapestry. Severia shook her head and took a step back, taking in more of the room. There were two sets of double doors on opposite walls, as well as two hallways. She took her time to explore the dark rooms, finding it to resemble a type of barracks. She could tell it had been furnished once, but most of the wooden furnishings had been destroyed at some point. After following the last hallway out, she came upon a most peculiar door.
It didn't scare her, but felt like it should have. She walked up to the black skull door that gave off an eerie red glow and placed a palm against the same black hand print she'd seen on the banners. It gave off a low hum, much like the feeling she got from singing to her Enigma.
But this wasn't it.
After trying to budge the door open and failing, it had hissed loudly in her ears, asking her what the color of night was. Severia took a wary step back, thinking over the question.
This place was probably just as cursed as she was, if not more so.
"B-Black?" she stuttered, waiting for a response. When she got none, she attempted to open it again only to find it still tightly sealed. She huffed and walked away, eyes wandering over the strange place again. That black hand print was everywhere, and it had to have something to do with the thing that used to be down here.
She'd be damned if she didn't find out what it meant.
After retreating back to the home she shared with her eldest sister, she walked straight into Vaudina's bedroom without knocking. The older woman roused suddenly and crankily from her slumber, wondering what had woken her.
"Vaudina," Severia stood over her sister's bed, brown eyes boring holes into the sleepy woman's face. The eldest rubbed at her eyes, wondering what her sister had woken her up for that was so important. "What do you know about a black hand print symbol?"
Vaudina stopped rubbing at her eyes and looked up. She hesitated before saying, "Where have you seen that mark?"
Severia shrugged and sighed loudly, not wanting to be the one answering questions. "I saw a banner. What does it mean?" Upon seeing her sister's face paling, Severia was sure her sister knew something and was not telling her. After fighting off her stunned silence, Vaudina sat up straight in her bed to lock angry eyes with impatient ones.
"Where have you been snooping that you do not belong, Severia? Who have you been speaking to?"
"If you don't answer my question, I will find someone who will."
The two Vicharelli sisters stared each other down, neither wanting to back down. Severia's patience was running thin, and fast. With a huff, Vaudina sat back against the headboard of her bed, bringing her fingers up to rub her temples.
"How is it that you manage to find trouble everywhere you go?" Vaudina said tiredly. The younger sister clenched her fist and glared daggers. "It seems I can't turn my back for one second without you doing something reckless or illegal. Most of the time it's both. Why can't you just listen to me for once instead of running headfirst into danger?"
That was it. She wasn't going to help. "Sorry that you were cursed the with Siren for a sister." the younger woman snapped back. Severia obviously wasn't going to learn anything more here. There was no point in staying. "There's a spare coin purse in my nightstand. Use it if you must."
Severia left the room without a glance back as her older sister shouted after her to come back.
Severia took to the streets of Cheydinhal, easily staying one step ahead of her tired and worried sister. She passed by the old well one last time, hoping for something. She placed her hand on the old familiar stone for one last time, and upon sensing nothing, headed straight for the west gate of the city. The well would be the first place her sister looked, and she'd be damned if she had to say goodbye to a second person in one night.