Mathieu Bellamont's hand fell into his hidden pocket of his black robes, fingering the thin cold chain thoughtfully as he stood above a cowering young woman bound and gagged in the corner. After spending a most undesirable and miserable week as the Listener's loyal body guard, his entire body was aflame with enough confined resentment that he wished to release his anguish and stress upon this recent victim.

She was an attractive peasant, who would perhaps be missed by a family or a string of broken hearts. But the world would be better off without her. Despite her outer beauty, she was two faced and manipulative. She spent her days telling her cult following of insecure girls many forged speeches of inspiration. Then, she would enjoy stabbing them in the back when they least expected it.

"Now," Bellamont took out the amulet and placed it around her neck, admiring how the shiny metal glistened in the dim candlelight over the slightest hint of breast. Her normally peachy color was drained and all that was left was the translucent white skin that trembled as he knelt close against her. "Do you have anything to say before I kill you?"

The girl's eyes burst into tears, a pouring fountain of sobs that caused Bellamont's conscience to push at his beating heart. How sad, that now she would find it a worthy time to expose remorse.

"Mother," Bellamont bowed his head, his voice low as he turned to the shrine he created. He had a flighting desire to provide mercy for the girl. If mercy had been given to him, perhaps his life would have been a little different. With that thought, he turned back to the girl, who jumped slightly and pressed herself even tighter against the wall, her muffled scream choking in her throat. She seemed terrified by the new found passion in Bellamont's eye.

From the next room, the barking of a dog echoed off the basement walls. Bellamont always kept the beast to warn him of any surprise visitors.

"Mercy doesn't exist," Mathieu grabbed the girl by the hair, taking out his blade and slowly digging it into the girl's skin across her neck.

A geyser of blood erupted, splattering Bellamont's face, neck, and chest, with its warm ambrosia. Closing his eyes, he felt that familiar wave of release that he first experienced when he carved the very heart out of the traitor that was his father. It was a high that was better than any skooma or prostitute had ever provided him.

Standing up, Bellamont stretched, inhaling sharply through his nostrils that familiar stench of rotting flesh and newly spilled blood. He turned back at the girl's remains one last time to retrieve the necklace. Dragging the corpse by the hair, he dragged it next to his bed, leaving it to lie limply upon the floor. He paused to remove the dampened cloth of his robes off of his chest. He sat upon the thick mattress, feeling the itchy rough fabric of his blanket against his bare skin. He fell back, enjoying that delicious aroma and release from that fresh kill as he wrapped the chain of the amulet around his fingers.

Bellamont reached at a crate, where his diary rested, greeting for him to have their pages freshly scratched with more secrets and desires. He turned to the freshest page, taking out a quill and leaning over to dip it into the neck cavity of the once breathing girl.

It's all right, mother. It's almost over. I'm close. So very close. How long have we struggled? How long have we waited? Too long, I know. But it's almost over. I promise.

Bellamont paused, before his mind began to wander over the recent events that had transpired. He was ordered to recruit three new murderers, killed them, and then allowed a sister to take the blame. Normally, this issue was resolved when the Wrath of Sithis was invoked. But it seemed that the girl had overcome the poltergeist.

I killed them. Three of them. They followed me, and saw you. I had to kill them. And my plans were almost ruined because of them—and they all promised to never tell. But I didn't believe them. They had to go. I was lucky that a Brotherhood Sister had a contract here in Anvil. I managed to take the bodies and had her blamed. But she's still out there, Mother. The Brotherhood are fools, for they kept sending weak initiates to kill her. Why is this? Because of Lachance's request to Ungolim! Even now, Lachance continues to thwart our plans! If I knew where the Night Mother hid like the worm that she is, I would have gutted Lachance immediately!

But fret not, mother. I intend to have her killed. Even if I have to break off Lachance's request, I will make sure this girl does not see the next moon! A request is not a tenet.

I know we will have our revenge, Mother. Lachance is already in my grasp. And my advancement to Executioner means I am this closer to seeing the Night Mother. Soon. Lachance, especially, will be mine. I will kill him.

Kill. Killhim.

—

A knock on the door threw the water over the inferno of Mathieu Bellamont's hungry writing, along with the chaotic howls from his dog. He closed his diary, partially regretting it as the writing would smudge. He jumped to his feet, taking his knife and slowly going to the door.

He opened the door just barely, when he relaxed slightly knowing it was his landlord.

"My God, what is that smell?"

"Rat Stew. May I interest you in some?"

"No," Ulfgar Fog-Eye, his Nord landlord took a step back and covered his nose and mouth. Opening the door had released the overwhelming aroma into the night air. "But the misses complained of hearing a scream."

"I'm afraid I had not heard any screams, or I would have been out searching for the problem. Now, if you'll excuse me."

"Not so fast," Ulfgar held his broad arm out, pushing the door back even farther. Thankfully, Mathieu kept his home so dark that it was almost impossible to see the carnage within. "You forget about this month's rent?"

"Of course not." Mathieu reached for a shelf, not daring to step away from the door. He took his woolen sack, tossing it at the Nord in annoyance. "I added some extra coin to ensure I remain undisturbed. Do you understand?"

"Haven't I always?" Ulfgar greedily took the money and allowed the door to be closed in his face. "Strange guy," he surmised as he walked to his house, shaking the small sack of coins as it jingled into the night air. "But he pays for my liquor." With that, the Nord roared in a deep laughter as he walked to the nearest pub.