Andy dug her feet in the sand, basking in the embracing warmth of the sun.
Her little niece and nephew were building sand castles by the shore, giggling and splashing each other, as the waves lazily crashed against the shore line.
She often would take the kids to this private beach, giving her brother and sister in law some much needed alone time. One of her past coworkers, Jennifer, had lucked out and married a rich guy from New York. They owned a beach house about 40 miles from Myrtle Beach, and would only stay there a few weeks of the year.
"Y'all just come by anytime, bring those adorable little angels."
Andy snorted. Those kids were more like Satan's spawn.
She felt a twinge in the back of her head. Probably her position. She adjusted the beach towel and sand underneath.
The waves made a hypnotic rhythm. She sighed, content.
It was nice and sunny outside. But…it seemed…bright. A little irritating. She tried squinting her eyes. Where were her glasses?
Reaching over, she felt him next to her. Ah, maybe he brought them. She entwined her fingers with his, rolling a bit to her side to face him. She couldn't see much, because of the light, but she started to absent mindedly run her fingers in lazy circles on his chest; working her way up his neck, then to the stubble that ran along his jawbone.
She leaned over and kissed his cheek. The scales tickling her lips.
She smiled, content.
Hmm. When had she started to date again? She couldn't seem to remember...
Hold on.
Scales?
She sprung forward, being stopped a few inches up. The past memory of Jennifer's beach house quickly disappearing, as panic and confusion took over.
Her vision was blurry. Why was it so dark? Where was she?
She was gripping onto something soft, but sturdy, her arms clinging for dear life, as she struggled to gather her bearings.
She couldn't stop shaking. Her stomach churned. Her lungs burned. She couldn't breathe.
A strong arm wrapped itself around her torso, while a large hand cradled the back of her head. Her nerves started to settle, breathing normalized, and she managed to loosen her grip on whatever was in front of her.
She felt a warm sensation on the back of her head, and it seemed brighter, although her vision was still unclear.
She felt safe though, and before long she was drifting into a peaceful sleep.
[-]
He was kneeling next to her on the hard floor, pouring healing magic into the hole in her head. She had flown directly into the edge a tall table behind her. The impact had also managed to shattered her skull.
Blood was everywhere. His robes were drenched with it. Not the first time, although this situation was quite different.
He always left them to die.
Once he managed to reform the skull, he lifted her up, placing her on the bed. Her breathing was rapid; her body would go into shock soon. He took his mask off, casting it to the side so he could get a better look at the injury.
The mask mostly amplified his offensive powers, and did little in regards to restoration. He was no novice though, and had spent thousands of years perfecting the various disciplines of all magic.
Her face returned some of its color. She was recovering from the massive amount of blood loss. She would live.
Her eyes were fluttering, rapidly. He tilted her head and parted some blood clotted hair aside. She would no doubt have a scar, but it was starting to heal nicely. His hand lit up again, casting some more restoration magic. Using too much had adverse effects on the mind of the receiver. The body still needed its own time to cope with trauma.
Her strange tunic was soaked with her life force, and needed to be removed. He slowly lifted her torso, and pulled the garment up, easing her limbs out, and eventually, ever so carefully, over her head.
He tossed it on the floor, in a wet splash. It was ruined.
He pulled the blanket around her bare torso. She was wearing an odd form of binding. Her breasts were larger than the normal female, and she had no defined muscle on her arms. The foreign material of her trousers hugged a generous set of hips, with a small pouch adorning her stomach.
Nobility, perhaps.
On her left side, he noticed a sizable scar that protruded from the top of her trouser band, disappearing under the strange fabric. It reminded him of the marks left from the embalming process. She had obviously been cut open before, and lived.
He caught a glimpse of a marking on her back. Turning her to the side, he saw a gold dragon, coiled around an hourglass, covering her lower back.
Akatosh.
She groaned. He steadied her movements. A flash of light sparked, as he casted a calming spell.
She reached out, and curled her hand around his.
He froze.
Delicate fingers ran their way up his robe, until they stopped to trace light lines along his jaw.
She leaned up and kissed his cheek.
Her eyes were barely open, mostly glazed. A half smile formed on her lips. Dried blood covered most her face, and dark circles were forming around her eye sockets. He gently moved her back into a flat position.
Green eyes sprung wide open, pupils dialated, as she attempted to sit up, smacking into him. Hands gripped his neck and shoulders in desperation.
She was trembling, struggling to breathe. It was the physical effects such an injury, but ampliphied by the lung disease she possessed. He put an arm around her back, and held her head with the other, casting some more calming spells.
Miraak was, in fact, quite arrogant, but it was justified. He was never wrong, he never made mistakes.
But perhaps…he had been too hasty. He could not remember a single point in his existence where some unknown commoner had the audacity to question his wisdom.
And then physically strike him.
It was…infuriating. Death was the only punishment for such a trespass.
And yet, here she laid, alive, and by his own choice. Something surfaced, something he had never felt before.
Guilt.