The party grew increasingly rowdy as the night crawled on, dice thrown, curses shouted, wine spilled. Antoinetta had made a point of sidling up to some of the nobles, earning their rapt attention with flashes of cleavage and fluttering lashes, while Anya remained almost pinned to Voranil's side. Mercifully, most of the attendants seem to have forgotten I was even there. I did nothing to combat that, grateful to blend into the background despite the chaos around me.

Then, a shrill shriek. Antoinetta. A tray lay toppled at her feet, goblets pooling their contents on a fine rug, wet stains on her dress. The Dunmer servant from earlier fretted around her, hands clasped, looking more terrified than apologetic.

"I'm so, so sorry, miss, please, please forgive me – "

"How could you!? I had this dress -" Antoinetta wailed, eyes watering, lip quivering. "E-especially made for tonight! And now it's ruined!" Her gaze flickered across the room, and for a moment we made eye contact. Yes – this was it. Voranil stood from beside me, temporarily abandoning his goblet of skooma. All eyes slowly moved to him, the servant shrinking back as he approached.

"You stupid, clumsy little idiot – "

"Please, sir, it was an accident!"

My mouth tasted sour. The world whirled – if I hadn't been sitting, I'm sure I would have toppled. Little laughs, some awkward, some amused came in waves from the remaining partygoers. I glanced at Anya, still seated. Lips twisted, brow furrowed, the act of a haughty noble momentarily dismissed. Then she glanced at me and straightened, only giving the slightest of nods.

No. No – I couldn't do this. I couldn't, it wasn't poisoning a rat, it wasn't laying down a trap and walking away, only to find the body later and discard it. This was a man, a living breathing person before me. No matter how cruel or self-obsessed, I had no right. And I was afraid.

To kill a rat was impersonal, a chore. This was horrifically intimate, making my chest heave, the cool glass of the vial pressing against bare skin under my bodice. Maman's face, then that of the wraith flashed in my head.

A slap resounded. The Dunmer recoiled with a shriek, then began to quietly weep. Voranil raised his hand to hit her once more, snarling, eyes wild with intoxication. More laughter from the Orcish gang, though the other Orc servant only watched with sad eyes.

I winced at the slap of skin on skin. I wanted to crawl into myself and escape. I wanted to march over and rip his hands away from her, slap him myself.

As it was, there was only one thing I could do.

It was over before I'd known I'd done it. The powder fell easily into his goblet, the vial in and out of my bodice with nothing more than a whisper. Anya glanced over at me, then stood and made her way to the Altmer.

"Oh, Voranil, please. We musn't let this incompetent servant ruin our night. Come, come – sit, drink. We'll have a toast."

"Useless wench," he spat, only turning at Anya's hand on his arm. He turned back towards the table – I averted my gaze, just catching my sister helping the poor girl up out of the corner of my eye. Antoinetta sighed dramatically, shaking her head.

"It is hard to find good help, isn't it? Oh, well. She'll just have to put her earnings towards replacing my dress!"

I grit my teeth. She was laying it on too thick – the poor girl had suffered enough. Still, there was an illusion to upkeep even now. Despite wanting to go and help her, comfort her, I remained firmly rooted to my seat. The Orc hesitantly approached to help her to another room.

"Now that all the excitement has died down…" Unflappable as ever Anya sat once more, primly tilting her head. "Dear Voranil, I wish to toast to your good health and fortune in the future, and to that of all our friends and associates here."

"And to continuing business." The female Orc, another of the gang, raised her goblet with a grin. Anya and Antoinetta followed, and I hesitantly lifted my own filled with wine.

"Cheers!"

"Here, here!"

"I'll drink to that."

Clinks, then the sculling of drink around me. I barely let the rim of the goblet touch my lips, certain I'd never be able to swallow it through the tightness of my throat. It was done – Voranil lowered his drink with a hazy grin. Perhaps an hour from now –

It was done.

I floated through the crowd, watching games, engaging in pointless chatter as best I could, sharing a night of amusements. Voranil grew increasingly incoherent as the night crawled on. I found myself glancing over my shoulder almost constantly, wincing at every hiccup, every stumble he took. A line of saliva began to dribble down his chin, unnoticed as he leaned back in his chair and stared blankly at the ceiling. One of the signs – excessive salivation. He began to giggle madly, pawing upwards as though trying to catch something.

"Eh?" One of the gang members stalled his game, raising a brow and staring at the Altmer. "Y'alright, Voranil? What're ya doin?"

"Coins!" He reached both hands upwards now, grinning, words slurred. "Don't you see them? Fuh-f-falling from the roof! I'm going to be ri-rich…"

"Heh." A tusked grin. "Sure. You just keep sending some of that gold our way."

He answered by doubling over to vomit. I cringed and inched away, my own throat burning with bile. Nausea, now, then his heart would slow. There was no danger of him expelling the poison – it was too late for him. Much too late.

"I don't f-feel… I d-don't…" He slurred further. I remembered the numbness, the burning tingle mad honey had left on my own tongue. He crumpled into the puddle of sick, the Orcs standing at attention with curses, nobles drawing back in disgust.

"Malacath's sake! What –"

"Mara have mercy! Is he alright?"

"He's overdosed. Must've had a topper 'fore we came in." Sharp yellow eyes scanned the room, then landed on me. He pointed. I felt the blood drain from my face, my fingertips, dragging me downwards. "You. I seen you before. Ain't you a healer? Fix him!"

Anya and Antoinetta stared – this wasn't part of the plan. My reputation as an alchemist and healer was more known than I'd thought now, for better or worse. And they weren't going to summon a healer from the chapel, not at the risk of exposing their business. No, I was conveniently here, party to their actions. I could save their best customer.

Except I couldn't.

He was seizing now, head cracking against the floor, limbs erratically twitching. I knelt at his side, trying to rest my arm under his head to cushion it. His mouth frothed, eyes wild and unseeing, flickering back and forth at unseen creatures above him. Strong hallucinations, seizing, then…

"I c-can't." I spoke at last, shaking my head, voice trembling. "I don't – I don't think I can – "

"Try," snapped the woman. They both hovered nearby now, staring. The Altmer vomited again – I turned his head so he wouldn't drown in it, for all the good it would do him. Magicka hummed on my hands, but never entered his body. In appearance, I was trying – eyes squeezed shut, concentrating. In reality, I was trying to hold back from helping him.

He was beyond any help I could offer, anyway.

Perhaps a full minute later he finally, mercifully slumped in my lap, a guttural sound clawing from out of his throat. Finally still, eyes half-lidded and glazed, mouth hanging agape. I felt it – gods, I felt it, felt his chest swell and shrink with his last breath under my, hands, mine, I killed him.

All hung in silence. Everyone stared until at last one of the Orcs turned with a vicious curse. He eyed the remaining guests, then the body of Voranil on the floor. "Well? What're you all still doing here? Party's over. Go home."

Shaken, we all began to file out – first the nobles, then our little trio after Anya spoke to the Orc. Only when we descended into the safety of the Sanctuary did Antoinetta break the silence with a giggling squeal.

"Oh, did you see how he twitched? And my acting! Oh, my poor, poor dress!" She simpered and toyed with her skirt, doing a twirl. "I'm traumatized, really. See, ladies?" Her smile was too bright, blindingly bright. "I told you it'd work! And those stupid Orcs will think it was their fault, with the skooma. They'll deal with his body so the guard don't look too close. We don't even have to tidy up!" Her laughter too loud, piercing my skull. I dragged a hand through my hair, stopping short, doubling over.

Her voice seemed to swim now. "Dusty? Oh, come on, don't get all upset now! We did it, we're fine! It wasn't so bad, was it?"

"Antoinetta…" A sturdy rock to cling to, Anya's voice amidst the waves. "Why don't you go report our success?"

"Mhm!" She chirped and let us be. I leaned into Anya as we limped to the guest room. Both of us sank to sit down on a bed, her arms around me.

"Dust…"

I cracked. Hoarsely chanting, shaking my head. "I can't do that again. I can't, I can't, I just can't, I can't – "

"Shh, shh, it's okay. It's alright." She brushed away a lock of hair sticking to my cheek. "I shouldn't – I should have tried to reason with Antoinetta. I shouldn't – damn me, this was a stupid idea. I never should have…"

I laughed. She blinked, drawing back, hand sliding down my arm to hold my hand as I croaked. "I had to. She s-said the T-tenets. The Wrath of… oh-of…" I laughed again, a harsh, crackling sound. "Do you know that that means? Do you know what maman is, now?"

She only stared, lips parted. "… Is she…"

"She's a wraith. She would've punished me if I disobeyed, I know it. She would've killed me before," I spat. "That's all any of this is, death and dying and murder and I can't, Anya, I just can't do it anymore – "

"Then don't."

I paused, stunned into silence. She moved to take the pendant of my necklace in her palm, pale fingers tracing sapphire. My mouth was dry, barely able to shape words. "… What?"

"Come back with me, to High Rock." We lay down together as she spoke, curled up on the bed like when we were children having nightmares, using one another to shoo them away. Her hair tickled my cheek from where it rested on the pillow, our eyes meeting. "I'd speak to the Listener, ask him to allow you to come home with me. You could stay with me at the manor. I'd help you find a good man, a good home, away from all of this."

My mouth stayed agape. After a moment she cocked a brow, smirking and shaking her head. "Tucket would tell you to stop catching flies."

The possibility seemed – beyond comprehension. Going back to High Rock, back to everything I'd come to Cyrodiil to escape. Suitors, nobility, the gilded cage. Yet this time, I'd be a woman grown. Not under the thumb of my stepfather, a pretty pawn to be traded or matched, but guided instead by my sister.

An impossible thought, both tempting and frightening. To leave everything behind again, everything my life had become in these past strange months. Visions flashed behind my eyes – the Sanctuary, maman, the shrine in the swamps, the ruin. My little shop, Lucien's dark eyes…

Would he even allow it? Would I just be running to a new place to be chained up, still under their eyes while trying to build a new life? Anya being one of them, maybe that would be enough, but... I sighed, feeling like a wrung-out rag now, empty, exhausted. "… I don't know."

"Just think about it." Anya smiled, then grunted and frowned.

"Anya?"

"I'm fine. I suppose my little one is upset, after all the excitement."

I'd almost forgotten about it – the roundness to her belly that I'd seen her with so often in past years. She gave a little chuckle at the doubling of my eyes and took my hand, placing it over her stomach.

"Can you feel her?"

Nothing, at first. I whispered as I waited, as though my voice might startle it away. "How do you know it's a girl?"

"Herminia - Madame Tucket," I wrinkled my nose, suddenly realizing that my old childhood nemesis indeed had a name - "She said I'm carrying higher, this time, not so low and all in the front."

Then a little flutter of movement under my fingers, taking my breath away in a gasp. Almost a tickle against my fingertips, first gentle, then harder like it wanted to keep my attention. Anya laughed aloud, gentle and sweet.

"She's saying 'hello, auntie.'"

"Hello," I murmured back, enraptured by the tiny feelings of life. Life, even after I'd taken a life tonight, held a dying man, a man I'd killed, I could still feel life here.

"You could come with me. Finally meet my children, maybe even have some of your own. Do you want that?"

Did I? Gods, I could hardly care for myself, it felt like. And part of me recoiled at the thought that these bloodied hands were even here, feeling this, touching this tremble of innocence and life.

But Anya had. Maman had.

I gave a gusting sigh, sinking into the bed, and Anya laughed. "Alright. One thing at a time. I'll be setting out tomorrow morning, but you know you can always write me if you need anything. Anything at all."

"I know."

We fell into silence. I concentrated on my fingers, on the quivers of life beneath them, until at last we both sank into an exhausted sleep.