I had been born under the Shadow. Growing up, I had never been able to perform the ability that other men and women had been granted, that of a daily invisibility spell. For years I wondered why, wondered if I had remembered my birthday wrong, or if I had simply been too weak at magic to perform the spell.

I had an ability related to my constellation, but Azura had seen fit to twist it into something completely different. It was not mere invisibility, but a memory wipe, a way to make myself disappear completely from the world and the memories of everyone who had ever seen me.

I only ever used it once.

But as with all curses, all spells, there was a loophole. Magic could not erase emotions, and no matter how strong my spell, I could not erase myself from the memories of some of the people from my life. If they loved me, despised me, loathed me, wanted me, I could not disappear completely from their minds.

It was a bitter pill I swallowed that night I left Kvatch. I aimed the spell at Martin's feet, praying the potency of it at such a proximity would work, but I had known it would not. It would have been easier for us if it had. The green orb pulsed once, and his expression stayed the same. The taste of betrayal and the cutting knife of pain stung all the way to Bruma.

But I had to leave. I had no choice.

Years later, on contract in Kvatch, they told me he had become the chief Priest of Akatosh. I spoke to the innkeeper who had once looked at me with fond eyes, saw the total lack of recognition in them, and allowed her to explain to me the events that had happened once I left. She told me of the scandal of the missing Bellamont daughter, who had disappeared in the middle of the night. Only Martin and the girl's parents remembered her name and her face, she said, and it had been seen as suspicious that the girl disappeared only for Martin to begin to apply himself fully to the priesthood. That suspicion had waned once the depth of his pain became clear, or so she claimed, but it hurt to know my actions had caused such trouble for those I had loved.

That night, it had been hard to convince myself that I had made the right choice.


Lauraine moved through the Roxy Inn with a wariness she'd rarely felt before in her life, fully convinced that there could be another one of the assassins in there. She knew she stunk of the sewers, and she was covered in so much grime that it was obvious she hadn't washed in at least a week.

She breathed out in relief once she reached the innkeeper, and carefully pulled out the torn pouch of gold coins that she had filched from man and monster alike in her journey out of the prison. Knowing fifteen would be more than enough for a room in such a dingy inn, she pressed them onto the desk between them.

"Please, do you happen to have a room available?" The lady eyed the fifteen septims on the desk and peered at her curiously.

"Ten gold. It's not much, but it's somewhere for you to rest that weary head of yours." Sighing heavily, Lauraine separated the coins so that the woman could count them individually.

"How much extra for a bucket of warm water and your silence?"

"Did I say ten gold? I meant fifteen. Hard times are coming what with the trouble I've been having lately. Your room is the second one to the left." The woman's smile was wider than it should have been, if she was intending to be subtle, and she left for a moment and returned with a heavy bucket full of hot water and a very small bar of olive soap. Lauraine was so distracted by it and the desperation of reaching her rented room that she didn't notice the plain-clothed civilian watching her.

She climbed the steps two at a time, desperate to get out of the bar area and into her own room where she could clean her face and hair. Her blonde locks were matted with dirt, and she didn't dare run her fingers through them to feel the knots and mud. The door to her room creaked mournfully as she opened it, and she all but slammed down the bucket of water and tossed the bow and quiver from her back onto the bedroll. Sitting crossed legged on the floor she used the bar to turn the water soapy until the meagre amount was used up. She then dunked her hands into the water and splashed her face, rubbing vigorously with her fingers before splashing it once more and drying her face with the cleanest part of the fur cloak.

She hadn't noticed the creaking on the stairs until the door to her room was slowly pushed open.

Panic settled in her stomach, a visceral fear of being caught now after the trek to freedom, but when the man entered the room she had to stare in confusion for several moments before she recognised his face.

"Lucien?" His dark eyes met her blues with the shadow of a smirk on his face, and he threw a knapsack at her.

"Sister. How lovely to see you free of your chains." He closed the door behind him and locked it, and Lauraine sat in slight awe at how different he looked free of his Black Hand robes. He tucked the key into his pocket, and she wondered how he had managed to pilfer it.

"Why are you here? I know the Brotherhood doesn't rescue those who are caught."

"We heard no word from the palace on the death of your target. I was sent to check if you'd done the contract and simply been caught, or if you'd fled. And of course, to retrieve your items from the Imperial prison. I had heard that you were locked tight in a cell: imagine my surprise when you walked through that door downstairs." Lucien Lachance moved aside his light-brown travelling cloak to reveal two Blades of Woe on his hips. He untied one, tossing it across the room towards her.

"We should have a system similar to the Thieves Guild. Better to get us out than let us rot in prison."

"Sadly, my dear, the fine for petty thievery is far less than that for murder. Our coin is better spent elsewhere. Now, how did you get caught? The job was simple." He leant back against the door and folded his hands over his chest. He cut an imposing figure, his cloak swaying gently around his feet and brushing the floor.

"Clearly it wasn't that simple. No one told me that the Blades had taken to patrolling the corridors of the palace. I was knocked out with my own Blade of Woe before I'd even registered she was there."

"Unfortunate."

"Painful." Silence hung in the air for a few minutes as Lauraine checked all her things were still in her knapsack. Everything was in there as before, but she had none of her old arrows though she suspected that was due to the guards probably dishing them out amongst themselves once she'd been arrested. Lucien watched her carefully, and her eyes caught his once more as she looked up.

"Lucien, I need to formally ask you for temporary leave from the Dark Brotherhood." He did not look surprised.

"If you tell me why, then certainly."

"Azura calls for me, and I cannot delay. You have my word that I will return as soon as I am able to." Her eyes pleaded with his needlessly; he had to allow it, for it had been her only condition when joining. She had served dutifully for twelve years; he could not refuse.

"Very well. As a Speaker for the Dark Brotherhood and an Agent of Sithis, I grant you leave until the Brotherhood crosses your path once more. Until that time, the Cheydinhal sanctuary will continue to await your return."

Lucien left her shortly after he'd spoken, leaving her alone in the room with the freedom to start pulling everything out of her knapsack to sort it out. Her armour lay folded up at the bottom, the traditional shimmering black and scarlet of the Dark Brotherhood. She put it to the side, prepared to change into it but aware she would have to buy some newer clothes in one of the cities; it was too suspicious to be walking around in something that was clearly Brotherhood armour.

Below, at the very bottom of the pack, something silver glinted at her and her heart squeezed in her chest in utter relief. Carefully, she wrapped her fingers around the amulet and the small silver ring, pulling them from the bag and trying to ensure they did not snag on anything. She allowed herself a moment to look at them, to feel that familiar sadness ache in her chest. The amulet was plain, a flat piece of silver with an obsidian stone centre and charmed with a luck spell. On the same chain was the simple silver ring, with a small moonstone set into the bearing. They were the reminders of a promise she had no right in making, a promise she had broken, to the man she had loved and left. Fondly, Lauraine ran her fingers over the jewellery before she shook herself out of her thoughts. Raising it, she tied the clasp quickly at the back of her neck, and then moved on to her other tasks in order to ensure she was ready to leave at dawn.

She grumbled to herself when she noticed the water was lukewarm by the time she could dunk her head into it.


The day she had received the ring and the amulet had started off a troubling one indeed. It was her seventeenth birthday, and she had awakened in turmoil. There was to be a party in the manor house, which acted both as a celebration and a chance to show off the young woman that had become a part of the family.

Lauraine had gone to sleep the night before completely sure of herself; she was a well-off young woman who was fortunate enough to have been adopted into such a family and, although they disapproved of her constant misbehaviour with Martin, she knew the family loved her.

She'd woken up on her seventeenth birthday a mess. Memories that were both her own and not her own flooded her mind. Lauraine awoke seeing visions of a realm her mortal body could not possibly have visited, and the smooth seductive voice of a Daedric prince ringing in her ears.

Memories of her mother being created by the edge of a waterfall at the command of Azura had come to her, and she did not accept them eagerly. The knowledge that her mother had been a devoted priestess of Azura made her feel ill and uncertain of her place, and she spent the entire morning in her room sifting through memories she had no wish to see to try and understand what was going on.

Lauraine woke up on the morning of her seventeenth birthday crying for an oath her mother had made on her behalf, and the fear of the Daedric princes that she had not felt before. Everything within her commanded her to skip town and go to the Jerall Mountains, but she was only seventeen, far too young to try and set herself up on such an adventure.

The first few guests to the celebration had arrived as Lauraine's mother was tying her into her dress. Her hair had already been brushed and tucked up into a neat bun on the top of her head which, although elegant, showed off the unfortunate mark on the back of her neck. A crescent moon encircled a star: she knew now that it was the mark of a burden to bear, serving as a reminder of the duty she might one day have to fulfil, but as a child she had no idea how it had been formed. It had simply always been there.

She knew now that it was a mark of ownership, and she counted herself lucky that no priest had ever caught sight of it. Though, if she were honest with herself, she was no longer sure if she had been born with the mark, if Azura herself had planted it on her, or if her birth mother had done so in a fit of crazed religious fervour.

Lauraine's dress was a simple, cream colour styled in the traditional Cyrodiilic style, but she felt it clashed too horribly with her hair and thus had been eager to tie it up and out of the way. Her mother left the room once she was appropriately locked into the dress, giving her a sweet kiss on the forehead before she took her leave. Lauraine sighed heavily, and moved out to her balcony to stare down at the streets of Kvatch.

Martin, nineteen and built in a way only the son of a farmer could be, watched her from below. Her thoughts had turned to him, as they so often did lately. Lauraine was young, not blind: she had found herself watching Martin more and more in the last year, had noticed how he had seemed to grow much taller and stronger as his work in the fields increased. There was a ruggedness to him, made more appealing by his easy smile and darkened skin. She knew her family did not disapprove of him: with their fortune going to their natural son, her happiness was more important than financial prospects. But what to do?

She was so lost in her own thoughts that she never noticed he was stood there until he bent to pick up a stone and threw it up onto the balcony.

"If you look any more miserable, then I'm going to have to get someone from the Mages Guild to put a charm on you." Tearing her gaze from the city walls, Lauraine looked down and grinned.

"Martin! You're early; mother wasn't expecting you for another hour." He gave her a grin in response and started to climb up to the balcony using the tree next to her window.

"Yes, but father let me finish my work early in order for me to get dressed. Besides, how could you survive all those nobles without me at your side?" His grin brightened as he jumped from the tree to the balcony with all the agility of a young man, and he gave her a gentle bow as he landed.

That he'd scrubbed up well was the first thing Lauraine had noticed. His hair had been brushed properly, a rare sight to see when Lauraine usually saw him at the end of the day when they went on their escapades through the town. Martin's hands and nails were clean, and his clothes spotless. There was no smell of the fields and sweat, as was usual after he had spent all day in them, and his clothes were freshly pressed. She wondered if he'd gone to visit his step-mother in the castle for her help in getting ready, or if he'd done it all on his own.

"Well, thank the Gods you're here. I saw Samwell arrive a few minutes ago and I do not wish to bump into him alone after what we did to the bakery last year."


By the late evening, when the party was in full swing, Lauraine felt like a zombie. Flushed red from the heat of the room and the number of times she had been spun around when dancing, she made a humorous picture stood on the balcony fanning herself desperately with her hand.

"Bored already, my friend? I don't see why you are; there are at least a dozen other strapping young men in there ready to step on your toes." The tone was mocking but jovial, and Lauraine merely rolled her eyes at the sound of Martin's voice. She groaned dramatically, a hand flung to her forehead, and turned so she was facing him.

"I cannot go on!" She grinned at him, nudging him with her elbow when he settled next to her. "But seriously, don't. I think I'm going to stink of the castle's alchemy lab for weeks after dancing with Pierre."

"The poor boy has high hopes with you, you know."

"Pierre is eight inches shorter than me."

"As I said, high. Now, don't you think it's time I gave you your birthday present?" Lauraine spun to look at him when he spoke, with her eyes narrowed suspiciously. He frowned at her look and she shook her head.

"Last year, you threw me into a mud pit. I've every right to be nervous."

"And this year I plan on giving you a decent gift. And besides, that mud pit was funny." She had to snort at the quickness of his response, and she turned on the balcony to look at him properly.

He was smiling fondly at her as he held an amulet up. A silver chain threaded with a yellow ribbon, and an obsidian sitting in the centre, it glinted prettily in the light of the setting sun. Lauraine stood there stunned as she took in the simple elegance of it.

"Where did you get such a pretty thing?"

"It's charmed with a simple luck spell, given your propensity for falling into things and repeatedly getting caught. I thought you'd like it." Placing the chain into her hands, Martin let it thread through her fingers as she examined it more closely. Lauraine felt the tingle of magic along her spine the moment her skin touched the chain.

"Martin, it's beautiful. I don't know how I can thank you enough."

"Don't thank me yet, it's not the only thing I wanted to give you." Something about his demeanour changed in the seconds between her looking at the amulet and then back up at him. He seemed nervous, his shoulders tensed, as he pulled something small out from the pocket of his shirt. As he uncurled his fingers, Lauraine spotted the ring in the centre of his palm. Feeling her breath hitch, she glanced up to Martin's face to find him watching her intently. There was still an air of nervousness to him, as though he were holding his own breath in fear.

"I... Martin, what is this?" She could only stare at the ring, too stunned to admire the cut of the moonstone, the simplicity of the band.

"I will not ask what you think I'm going ask, because I promised I wouldn't, and..." As he always did when nervous, he stopped talking before he began to stutter or ramble, and Lauraine allowed him the moment he needed to gather his words. "Your father asked me not to ask until you turned eighteen. So I won't ask you, not yet. All I'm doing is giving you a promise to do so, when I'm sure that Lord Bellamont won't string me up from the chapel spire." His words made her laugh, and his posture relaxed a little. Smiling, she took the ring from his hand and slipped it on. It looked lovely in the evening light, though Martin darted nervous eyes towards the doorway.

Seeing his expression, she carefully undid the clasp on the necklace and threaded the chain through the ring. It dropped down the chain to rest just behind the amulet, and Martin watched her with a smile. He took it from her and moved around her, looping the chain around her neck and tying the clasp at the back. The chain was long enough that the amulet and ring could be hidden under the collar of her day clothes. For now, it sat below the neckline of her dress.

"It is small enough to hide, until I can wear it openly, so long as I keep it under my blouse." She fingered the fabric with a soft smile, feeling the metal cold against her skin. The charm from the amulet momentarily enveloped her with warmth before it calmed. Behind her, she felt Martin's fingers brush against the clasp before he quickly, and briefly, pressed his lips to the skin beneath it. Lauraine felt goose bumps rise up along her arms, before Martin returned to facing her with a smirk twisting his lips.

"Well, Lady Bellamont, shall we return inside for a dance?"