THE BLISS OF PAIN

Cicero, with a vague but persistent feeling of guilt, walked towards the room where he had left Morrigan, his steps producing a liquid noise because of the blood on the floor. When he reached the door, he opened it. That, creaking, revealed to him the vision of the girl, sitting on the bed. She was still, petrified, her face pointing the floor and her eyes wide, as if she could really see something. She still had blood all over her face.

"Hey, little crow... are you okay?"

She nodded slightly, but her expression remained empty and terrified.

"Aye." she murmured, moving her lips just a little.

"You're hurt and dirty, little crow. And Cicero is more than you. He means, dirty. Oh, even hurt, the hand, he had forgotten. Anyway…"

But she seemed to hear nothing. Cicero, then, worried and approached her. At her near presence, he crouched down to see her face better.

"Morrigan?" he called cautiously.

"You... saved my life..."

Cicero laughed nervously.

"Don't overestimate him, Cicero has saved your virginity only. It's less binding, isn't it?"

He didn't want to admit that he had probably even prevented her death. After all, his work would've been exactly the opposite: to kill her, not to save her. This gave him a sense of inadequacy, as well as guilt towards the Brotherhood, the Mother and Sithis.

"I... thank y..."

She started to cry. The tears, suddenly bursting out of her white eyes, began to dig paths on the blood on her face.

Cicero, for the first time, was almost embarrassed, both towards her and towards himself. He decided to get up and walk away, but as soon as he tried to do so, she jumped and got her arms strong around his shoulders. Cicero was almost scared. She really was hugging him!

"Thank you! Thank you!" she kept saying, as if she no longer knew any other words.

Cicero remained motionless, allowing her that excess of affection. He decided to smile in response.

"Ah, that's what it's like to save people instead of slaughtering them. Nice."

She, despite the macabre situation, laughed in between sobs. Then, for she wasn't showing signs of detachment, Cicero turned her away to look at her. It was the first time that he was so close to her face and long enough to look at it in detail. He noticed particulars that he hadn't noticed before: she had freckles, for instance, very pale, confused with the rest of the equally pale complexion. Again, he tried to look for the shadow of the irises, but he couldn't find it. It was as if she really didn't have them, and not as if they were veiled. Cicero didn't know if such eyes were common among blind people, but he couldn't believe it possible, it couldn't be a normal disease. It seemed more like a curse, a malediction from a witch who hated her, and who had turned her eyes backwards.

"That man... is... is he dead?" she asked, in a breath without a voice.

"Of course, my dear. Do you disapprove?"

She made a little, almost hidden smile. She seemed sincere and... disturbing. The smile suited to a handmaid of the Void.

"No. He deserved it."

Cicero was pleasantly impressed by that attitude. He had believed she was… a good person. More attached to the civil idea of goodness, in short. But no: she was able to embrace her hatred and selfishness, without regretting it. Not always: most of the time she was a simple woman with a good heart, falsely cheerful, like everyone else. But every now and then she let out that most melancholic, mad and dark part of her soul. Which was also her true essence, her true personality, buried under years of terror and submission.

"If only you were born a few centuries ago, what a great bride for Sithis you would've been!"

He could possibly think of no greater compliment. It wasn't to disrespect the Mother, indeed... it was an honor to find one of the few people in the world who could have the respect of the Unholy Matron. He was sure She, the Mother, would've said the same things about Morrigan, too.

"I don't know who Sithis is..."

"Oh, Cicero will let you know. In good time."

Cicero touched her lips with his index finger, staining her more with blood. She, without giving a breath, without hesitation, wiped her lips with her tongue, in a slow and sensual gesture.

Cicero smiled, pleased, but walked away, allowing neither her nor himself to give in any further. He got up and began to speak as usual, with bold cheer.

"Now it's better for the little crow to clean up. As a professional, Cicero guarantees that it's better not to be caught with the blood of a victim on yourself."

She nodded, getting up.

"What's the situation over there?"

"Well, on this subject... Cicero realized that erasing the tracks will be... more difficult than expected."

"But it's almost morning!" she exclaimed, alarmed.

Cicero, calmer, touched her nose jokingly.

"Exactly, little crow! You're so smart!"

She drew back, terrified, again in the role of the common woman.

"What are you going to do? Are you going to leave it like this?"

"Well, Cicero doesn't have many alternatives, he certainly doesn't want to be found while trying to erase the evidences of a crime. Usually at this point he just runs away."

"And what about me? What do I do?"

"You don't really do anything little crow. Go home, cleanse, come back here and play out all your acting skills" he put a hand on his forehead, effeminate, "oh my Sovngarde, what happened here? Help! Help! Someone come to help this blind, defenseless, pretty girl!"

She gasped, again on the verge of panic.

"But what if... if they think I have something to do with it?"

Cicero laughed. He put his hand on her shoulder, fatherly.

"No offense, little crow, but no one in the world, ever, could possibly think it was you."

She challenged him with anger, impertinent.

"Didn't you say that if I wanted I could do everything?"

"Yup. Everything. But not what's over there right now, trust Cicero. If you could see it, you would agree."

She remained silent, agitated. She moved a little towards the door, as if she wanted to go and see for herself the conditions of the main hall. Then, as if suddenly remembering that she couldn't see anything, she gave up. She remained in the room with a confused and undecided expression.

"Listen to Cicero, little crow. Calm. When are the others coming here?"

"The mistress in at least two hours. Customers usually earlier, but I can close the inn for a moment, and maybe we can fix it, and..."

Cicero shook his head and shut her up.

"Shh. Don't think about the inn. Obey good Cicero: now let's go out, let's go to your house. We'll take a bath, we'll heal that cut on your forehead, and then we can talk about how to organize all the rest. You have to relax, little crow. What did Cicero tell you about tension? It's not good for your nerves."

She gasped.

"We'll take a bath, you say?"

"Oh, Cicero knows you'd like it, but he's a gentleman, he'd never dare!"

She hid her face, embarrassed.

"It was just to know if I had to prepare for you..."

"You only think about getting out of here, hm?"

Then, finally convinced, she awkwardly began to walk along the corridor. She decided to leave through the back door. Cicero, on the other hand, took one last look at the inn. The blood was drying and it was now difficult to clean, even if he wanted to. No, it was confirmed: better to leave. Before leaving, however, he took an apple from the counter.

.

.

There was no one outside, yet. Dawn was no more than a promise still far away. Houses still closed, people still asleep. They would all have woken up in a few minutes, noticing the extinguished hearthfire and the looming cold.

"Do you think someone could've heard the screams?" Morrigan asked, unable to restrain herself.

"Well, maybe we shouldn't talk about that right now, eh?"

Morrigan put her hands to her mouth. She was completely shocked and out of context. Cicero was almost annoyed, but mostly amused that she was taking it so worryingly. It was just a murder!

"Anyway, no, there are just shops around here, there was nobody close. Even if it were, they would've intervened earlier. Relax, Cicero is imploring you!"

She nodded and began to get around the inn. When she reached the stairs, she went down the steps very fast, as if she had forgotten to be blind. When she reached the road, she was the first to be amazed at herself.

For a moment she was free of all worries, and she stopped in the middle of the street. She breathed at the top of her lungs, and when she exhaled, her breath was clear in the cold morning.

Cicero reached her on the road, calm and carefree.

"Nice feeling, right? The first blood frees you from everything."

She smiled and said nothing, pacified with the world, with the universe, with the Void. Cicero had to take her home, holding her by the hand, forcing her to move.

Once home, Morrigan put the key in and turned it with incredible confidence. She had found the lock with no hesitation.

She opened the door and entered. It was dark, but she moved as if nothing could stop her. Cicero suddenly realized she didn't need light, for some unkown reason he hadn't thought about it before. And he understood that blindness could be a colossal advantage in his night work, except, well... it was a disadvantage in everything else.

Cicero entered and closed the door behind him, remaining in complete darkness. He had to wait for his eyes to get used to it, while Morrigan was already at work to light the fireplace and warm up the room.

"Can Cicero help somehow?"

"Take the water, there's a well outside."

Cicero started up and together they prepared a basin to clean themselves. It didn't take long, because Morrigan had decided to heat a single pot of water, she had poured the rest cold. She was a Nord, she said. She didn't care. She was comfortable in the cold.

Cicero checked the condition of his clothes. The blood was dirtying them almost from head to toe; but red on red, at least, made the slaughter not very contrasting. He decided to clean his gloves, so he took them off, along with his hat and jacket. He wiped his face, neck, and arms in the tripod. He didn't want to be perfect, it was enough for him to not look like the Butcher of Windhelm.

After cleaning the body, he rinsed his gloves and hat and soaked his jacket. He looked at his left hand: a deep, jagged cut was hurting in his palm. He had to sew it, so he took the necessary from the bag. Occupational hazards.

When he turned toward the center of the room, however, he stopped. He saw Morrigan standing next to the basin, ready with her bath. She was still dressed, her lips pressed together in a grip of embarrassment.

Cicero thought about going out, since there were no other rooms to go. He didn't make jokes for that time. He headed for the door, borrowing her night-colored cloak.

As soon as Morrigan heard the sound of the door, however, she stopped him.

"Where are you going?"

"Uh... Cicero... around. He'll come back later."

"But…"

There it was, the request. Cicero said nothing, he didn't tried to dissuade her or to conquer her. He wanted her to decide by herself.

"I don't want them to see you around, you can stay here" she said at last, "and then... I'm afraid of being alone."

Cicero laughed in a feeble whisper, happily making fun of her.

"Having Cicero around is useful, isn't it, when he's on your own side?"

She smiled back. For a moment, Cicero wondered how she knew how to smile. He thought it was something you learn, and instead it seemed to be an innate behavior.

"Well, you'll admit that... there's really no one around worse than you. You swore to give me a week of life, didn't you? This also means to protect me actively, I guess."

This time, Cicero laughed loudly. He pointed a finger at her, in a joking charge.

"Ha! The little crow can use dialectics when she wants, hm?"

"No dialectics. You protected me without me asking you, so you had already taken care of my life by yourself."

"Don't try to put the blame on Cicero, little crow! Poor, ingenuous Cicero doesn't like to be manipulated at all! If he hadn't promised not to do it, now he'd punish you."

Suddenly, his voice had become disturbing, profound, completely different from the tone he normally used. Morrigan, confused, held her breath. Cicero thought that her inability to see facial expressions made her by nature more prone to be victim of heavy jokes.

"Cicero's joking, little crow, relax! You should see the look on your face!"

Morrigan blushed, shaking her head and probably calling herself stupid internally. Cicero could almost read in her mind as she mortified herself. He didn't like it.

"Morrigan" he admonished her, this time actually severe, "Cicero doesn't like at all that you believe you're stupid. Stop it. Living half in the Void makes you less aware of what is happening around you, and that's okay. Don't underestimate the privilege that has been granted to you."

"Sorry…"

"And don't apologize, ever, when it's about your blindness."

"What do you want me to do then?"

"Cicero has already told you a thousand times: I want you to relax, by Sithis!"

Again, he thought he had been too strict. He forced a laugh, changing his tone.

"Forgive Cicero. Sometimes he gets caught up in emotions. He shouldn't talk like that to a Princess of the Void."

He approached her, trying at least to remedy the physical distance, even though he knew that the emotional one would've taken more time. He stopped a step away from her, he didn't go any further. He stretched his neck to speak to her near the ear, in a whisper.

"Anyway, even if Cicero wanted to punish you, he can assure you it would be pleasurable... for both of us."

He could almost see the exact moment when she seemed to melt internally. She became red in the face, and Cicero thought it must be a great misfortune for a woman so shy to be so pale.

She, evidently feeling threatened in her safe zone, stretched out a hand to drive Cicero away from her, or herself away from him. This, however, only further worsened the situation, because touching him on the chest she had become aware of the lack of the jacket. She was afraid, now, and Cicero couldn't help laughing.

"What do you think, little crow? Do you think that Cicero saved you from a rape just to make you experience another one right now? Cicero would never dare! Even if it may not seem, he always follows a rigid moral code. Relax, Cicero has only approached to give you an apple!"

She exhaled, as if until then she had held her breath, as if she hadn't emptied her lungs for centuries.

Cicero pulled the apple out of the bag and handed it to her, as usual, placing it directly in her hand so as not to force her to grope in the air.

She grabbed it with both hands, then she studied the surface, as if to check that it was clean from the blood. Then she took a bite.

"Now be a good girl and do this bloody bath, while Cicero takes care of the wound on your head. No punishments. For now."

Those last words made her chill along the spine, but from that moment she got calmer and said nothing. With hesitation, she let go of the apple and began to undo the leather corset. Cicero moved away, to give her more confidence.

Once her body was free from the corset, she remained motionless for a moment, trying to gather some courage. When she managed to accumulate self-assurance, she took off her robe and stood completely naked, with her usual gaze, lost in another dimension.

Cicero saw that she was skinny, too skinny. Shoulders, ribs and hips were peeping out from under the milky skin. But she was beautiful. She was, as a Princess of the Void should be: a lifeless beauty, almost dead, which reminds mortals that their body will eventually decay.

"You don't eat much, eh, little crow?" asked Cicero, genuinely curious, even to put her at ease.

"I don't always have to eat..." she confessed.

"So it's good that Cicero gives you apples, from time to time."

She twisted her nose, hugging her shoulders and cuddling her collarbones, embarrassed.

"Do you think I'm too skinny?" She asked him pleadingly, as if she actually already took an affirmative answer for granted. Perhaps many had made fun of her because of her thinness; perhaps it was another reason why men didn't like her much. But Cicero didn't understand why she was asking him.

"I'm your killer, Morrigan. You shouldn't care about what I think."

"Aye, but you're... you're the only man who has ever seen me, you know..."

She blushed again, looked down.

"Ahm... well... I'll express a personal opinion just because it's you, little crow, and because you have already forced Cicero to violate a lot of rules. Actually, I find you... very beautiful."

Cicero continued to look at her. He saw her breasts, small, with nipples turgid in the cold. He saw the thighs, the only parts of her body with a hint of softness. Her legs surrounded a dark triangle, of the same color of the hair. Finally, he saw the long raven-like hair, slightly wavy, which were so long to brush her hips, framing her entire figure like a funeral veil.

Morrigan giggled naively and cuddled a lock of hair.

"Really?"

She really cared about his opinion, she wanted to be beautiful in his eyes. Cicero found it nice, almost embarrassing actually. He began to feel uncomfortable and looked away.

"Oh really. Skinny or fat doesn't matter. You're... a pretty girl, and that's it."

"Thank you. Nobody ever told me."

"Nobody even told me, for what it matters. No one ever told Cicero he's a pretty girl" she snatched a laugh that lightened the atmosphere, "and now take this bath, come on, our time is precious."

Morrigan leaned over and looked for the tub. When she found it, she grabbed the edge of it and cautiously climbed over it. The water, barely warm, touched her shapes, and she didn't give a moan.

When she was lying down, immersed in water, Cicero went to sit on the edge, next to her. He had the necessary to close the wound.

"So, little crow, will you allow Cicero to heal you?"

She nodded, quiet, with only a very vague hint of anxiety. Positive anxiety, in all likelihood.

Cicero cleaned her wound, collecting some water from the basin. Then he dabbed the cut with gauze. He also wiped her face, still stained of blood, and she never protested.

"Sorry to inform you, little crow, but you need some stitches."

He extracted needle and thread. He studied the wound for a second, then slid the needle into the skin.

Morrigan winced, making the water to overflow. Cicero warned her.

"Careful, little crow, you don't want me to snatch out your eye!"

"It wouldn't be such a serious damage." she joked, and Cicero appreciated: it meant that she was relaxing, finally.

"Aesthetically, it would be. You wouldn't be so pretty with a pirate bandage."

She laughed and promised to stay still. She did so when Cicero began sewing again, but she continued all the time to squeeze her eyes and lips, trying not to succumb to the pain.

"The little crow is very delicate, um? Does Cicero hurt her so much?"

"No, sorry, go ahead. You're... you're good."

"The job of Cicero is to take care of a woman, it would really be funny if he wasn't good. It must also be said that the woman he takes care of is quite dead, while you're not. A bit higher at stake."

She frowned.

"What do you mean? Aren't you an assassin?"

"Oh yes, Cicero was and then he came back to be. But in the meantime he had the honor of guarding the Night Mother. She's our matron, our messiah. Her body is a relic for us."

"You?"

"The Brotherhood. But Cicero isn't going to talk about this now, awakens bad memories."

Morrigan, therefore, didn't ask any more questions. She remained silent and peaceful until he had finished with her wound, cutting the thread.

"Perfect, little crow, you're brand new! Now, if it doesn't bother you, you should help Cicero with his hand."

She seemed to remember only at that moment that he too was hurt. She was regretting the forgetfulness.

"Oh, is it serious?"

"It's nothing, for this work." replied Cicero.

Morrigan, to understand the extent of the damage by her own, asked to touch his hand. He gave it to her, and the girl brought a finger to the concerned palm. She touched the deep wound, still slimy and dripping blood.

"But it's very deep!"

She stopped touching him, maybe thinking she was hurting him.

"It's nothing. Hold the thread."

Cicero handed it to her, to make her help during the process. He inserted the needle without making a moan and without even changing his neutral expression, even if Morrigan couldn't see it. When it was over, a few minutes later, she was amazed that he was already done.

"You didn't say anything... and I remember that you laughed when that man cut your hand" she explained, amazed, "doesn't it hurt you?"

Cicero put the tools back and smiled at her simplicity.

"Of course it hurts, little crow. But it is life itself that hurts. Pain is just one of the many things we have to embrace and love, to avoid having it as an enemy."

She opened a sideways smile.

"I'm not that good, I can't tolerate it."

"Oh, but you can learn. Cicero would be very, very, very happy to give you lessons."

Again the deep tone, vaguely erotic, but more than anything else disturbing. However Morrigan, this time, didn't get too intimidated. Cicero was happy to see how quickly she could learn.

"Cicero had said no punishment for now."

"No, not now, no. Cicero doesn't like to force you. You're still too scared of him."

She swallowed. She sighed deeply, and Cicero saw her chest coming out of the water for a moment.

"So... you wouldn't have me... I mean... kill me, yes, but you wouldn't..."

"Do you mean if Cicero would've raped you? No, absolutely not! Cicero likes consenting women. Maybe dead, after; but in the meanwhile consenting, always. It seems like the possibility of violence worries you more than death, little crow."

"I'll have to face death anyway, and even faster than I'd like" she explained, honest, "violence... I can avoid it and I'd like to keep doing it."

"You can't convince yourself to avoid what isn't in your control at all."

She nodded, and her chin touched the water. She didn't reply.

Cicero, then, to dampen the silence, returned to rely on his constant humor.

"Now that I think of it, what a bad week for you, little crow! An almost murder and almost rape! Is your life always so busy or is it just bad luck?"

"On the contrary, I'm very lucky: I've avoided them both!"

They laughed together, and Cicero knew that he would've always appreciated that quality of her. She was a timid, shy person, she hated her eyes, her body, her life, and yet most of the time she was willing to laugh about it. It wasn't for everyone.

Then, all of a sudden, Morrigan surprised him again: with a wave of courage that Cicero wouldn't have thought of attributing to her, not at that moment at least, she reached out to his face. She asked permission before touching him.

"Can I? I'd like... I'd just like to feel how your face looks."

Cicero didn't answer with words and, approaching slightly, he made sure that her hand touched him. She smiled, brushing the side of his head.

"You have long hair..." she stated, vaguely amazed.

She kept touching it, smoothing it.

"What color is it?"

"Red."

"Ah, aye, like carrots."

"A little darker. More like... fresh blood."

Cicero looked down and saw that the water had turned red too, cleaning their wounds and Morrigan's body. Now she was there, lying, pale and with her breasts touching the surface of the water. A blood-colored water, as if she were taking a bath in the evidence of his attacker's death. Once again, Cicero saw her stupendously macabre.

She lowered her hand, coming down his neck and shoulders. She was a little surprised, now, perhaps because she didn't expect to meet a sculpted chest. Cicero wasn't among the tallest, most intimidating or strong men. But he was agile, and above all trained. The job required it.

Cicero, to return the contact, sank his arm in the vermilion water. With his healthy hand touched her side, then grabbed her with a little more decision. She gave a soft sigh. And Cicero, in response, pinched hard her hip's skin.

Morrigan winced, making a surprise sound. She withdrew her hand and stopped studying his face, and he did the same, restoring the distance between them.

"See?" he told her, impertinently, "Pain isn't that bad, after all."