I felt her, before I saw her. A whisper on the breeze, frigid winter in summer's warmth. Sensations – warm blankets around me, an icy wire strangling my throat. Mint and blood, murmured encouragement and howling wrath...
"Maman." She circled me – I could feel it, the movement like the sweep of a dress, the cold hands that cupped my face as they had so many times before. A choking, staccato sob but I sucked it back, held it hard in my chest as her face swam in before me.
Too much. Almost too much, but I had to do this. This one last trial, this one last chain, I had to remove.
I expected a monster. The horror I'd seen that night, that distorted face under her own, I had thought that would come to devour me. For a moment, I thought that would have been kinder than this. Easier, so much easier than this; seeing my mother, my beautiful mother not as a monster, but as I'd always known her. Her hair tied back, her chin lifted high, elegant earrings dangling and velvet black robes clinging to her proud frame. Solid and there-not-there, her breath cold past my ear.
"My Dusty." Her thumbs brushed over my cheeks, freezing the trail of tears. "Ma petite, mon chou."
"I know why you're here." A miracle I could even speak through the anguish strangling me. Grief had been my constant for so long but to feel it fresh, gods, I could hardly breathe. "I know."
"Yes, darling. I must serve my purpose. I must walk the path I've chosen." She wept, too – silent tears tracing down her face as she murmured, voice strong, but distant, almost echoing. "As must you."
I couldn't hold it back any longer. A harsh sound escaped me, raw with hurt. "Maman…"
"You will not walk in my footsteps – you should not. My Dust, my bright little flower." Joy entered her voice, making my heart leap into my throat. "You were made to dance."
"… But you're here to – to punish me."
"Yes. And still, even in fear, you've come. Choosing your fate, writing your story. Dust…" Her voice softened, a glitter in her eyes as she stroked my cheek. "Listen to me, closely."
I listened.
"Damn making the best of it, of what I've left you. Make something your own. Make something new."
An echo of that dream. What are you trying to make?
"Maman." I let my head fall to her shoulder, there-not-there like the fingers raking through my curls, like the dissonant voice soothing me. "I've left it. All of it – I've disobeyed and run. I left the Family, left Lucien." Another pang at the thought of them, of all I was sacrificing even praying it was temporary, even knowing it was right. "I thought – I thought you'd chosen that path for me. I thought you'd hate me."
"I chose this path for myself, love. The path I walk must intersect yours – I must do as I am tasked. I punish, as a daughter of Sithis." My breath trembled out of me as she lifted my face, met my eyes with a smile I'd almost forgotten.
"But as your mother – as the mother of a child so brave, so determined, so full of life and beauty and willing to risk anything to let it show – how could I be anything less than proud of you?"
I flung my arms around her, clung so tight I was certain she'd break but no – she remained there, almost there in my arms like she'd never left at all, laughing against my ear and laying a cold kiss on my brow. "Be proud of who you are, Dust. Be whoever you are knowing I will always be proud of you. Be whoever you are, and that will take you wherever you may wish to go."
"Even if I have to go alone? Even if they don't want me to leave?"
"Even then." That laugh, wrenching at my chest, making me give a watery giggle in return. "And when you return, be loved for who you are."
I don't know how long we stood like that, embracing, together as we never could be again.
I could have stood there like that forever.
"It's time, Dust." At last she rose, tilted my chin again. Voice whisper-soft, eyes endlessly deep, void-deep. "I love you, mon chou."
"I love you too, maman." A croak all I could manage as I felt her hands slip away. As before me, she twisted – pale skin turning ashen and torn, eyes flaring red. "Always."
It hit me with the force of a blizzard, whorling hoar-frost and shrieking winds, a scream through my chest seeming to suck the breath from me in a gasp. Images – frigid winter, glinting eyes, knives dancing across a blood-studded canvas of skin…
No. I forced my hands up, forced my curled fists to open even as a fierce wind seemed to flay at my face, freeze my lips as I tried to speak the incantation. I had come this far, I had, she was proud, I had to –
But gods, it hurt. Tearing and skinning, stripping like the thinnest of blades, like teeth through flesh. I couldn't think, I couldn't breathe. Bone-deep, marrow-deep, soul-deep, and I'd have screamed if I even had the air in my lungs but they seemed frozen, utterly still. It took all my will to lift my hands, trying to hide my face from spectral claws seeking purchase. The force of it threw me to the ground, whipped me back and forth like a ragdoll. Terrible, clawed blows there-and-gone and there again, ripping, tearing...
I have to, I have to or I'll die here and I won't let it end like this!
Remembering everything I'd learned, everything I'd been through to come here. The traitor atop me, the red glow of Oblivion. Sheogorath's laughter, Lucien's blind eyes, maman dangling from a hook, all the pain and grief and I'd survived, damn it all –
Darkness seemed to envelop me, thick, smothering and cold as a shroud. I had no words, no breath for the spell, and every blow ripping through me made it harder to catch. At last, fear began to bubble up stronger than my will. I curled up tight, desperate to protect myself from the assault even knowing it was futile.
I'd die here. I'd die here, at maman's hands, because I wasn't strong enough. Because…
No.
I wasn't like her. But I could be strong, in my own way, my strength a match for hers even now, even like this. I lurched, staggered to my feet, another clawed rake taking my breath away, first in talons cold as ice, then in a warm trickle.
I am proud of who I am. More images; of cutting away my hair and engagement, of kissing Bolor in rebellion and love. Of befriending assassins, of surviving the traitor, of healing the painter and helping Aldos find hope. Of making Antoinetta laugh, of making even Lucien smile. I thought of dancing, singing, warmth. I felt the pounding in my head reach its peak in time with my heart, quaking, beating like the pulse of a drum…
You must be your own light in the dark.
It left me in a burst, a roar of energy digging into the darkness itself, forcing it back, consuming it. Not just the spell I'd been taught, no – streaked through with light, punctuated by the thrumming of my heartbeat in my skull. The taste of copper and void salts in the air, the scent of ozone burning away…
A flicker, a hiss – or a whisper?
She was gone.
And I was still here.
I didn't have the presence of mind to stay on my feet. I let myself crumple, let my body hit the wet grass heavy and hard as I sucked in lungfuls of air. Warmth – the warmth of the summer air settling once more, the warmth of blood smearing down my back, my arms, from my lower lip.
I'm alive.
Shaky laughter, even that painful while I rolled as best I could onto my back, staring up at the black sky studded with stars, glowing and streaking through the tears in my eyes.
Be who you are, and that will take you where you wish to go.
It – it all made sense now. To be my own light, to make what I needed to be, it all mingled and sang inside my chest like a melody, ready to burst. So giddy with realization I almost didn't feel the pain, didn't hear the footsteps coming towards me…
In the summer grass, damp with dew and blood and my split lip stretched in a smile…
This time, I let the dark take me.
