This is a rewrite of a semi-popular horror/romance story that I'd written about seven years ago. Formerly called Child of Sithis, I've now settled on Descent into Madness for the rewrite just to differentiate between the two. This version will have more horroresque elements and won't be as child-friendly as the previous rendition.
Keep in mind that the beginning chapter takes place in the Imperial City, with many references to the TES: Oblivion. This is a loose interpretation of what Cyrodiil was like during the time period Skyrim was set in, so try not to take it too seriously lore-wise.
Descent into Madness
Blood. An endless river of blood, unmoving. Silent. Yet calm. A blackness similar to a void tearing through the very fabric of reality. Yet soothing. A voice. Benevolent, yet ghastly. As if appearing out of nothingness. It lures you in, something prodding at your hearts strings. An embrace, ever so loving and benign. Slowly, you begin to take a step towards the unfathomable body of liquid, the blood pooling around your feet as you mindlessly sink deeper and deeper into an inescapable abyss of darkness. Your eyes close as you drift further into a dream-like state, unfamiliar arms wrapping themselves around your shoulders. As if they were the arms of a mother gently coaxing her child into a peaceful nightly slumber, yet frigid enough to send goosebumps dotting themselves along your arms.
Soon those loving, caring, and motherly arms force your head underneath, blood gushing into every orifice of your measly body. You gasp unexpectedly at the revelation, eyes clamping together tightly as your fought helplessly under the now rushing current of blood.
"Open your eyes; those exquisite, loyal eyes, my daughter."
As if afraid to disobey, you surrendered yourself to the voice, eyes opening slowly - cautiously even. Skulls; tiny and almost infant-like, strewn about the bottom of the lake. Five altogether. You tentatively reach out for one, a small voice seeming to call out to you for help. With the most gentle of touches you could muster, you place a hand upon a cheek of the nearest skull. You feel heartbreak... sorrow.. anguish.. anything to describe it as such.
That previous motherly touch had returned and with it, came a voice so comforting and protective that nothing else seemed to matter. Suddenly those cries of anguish did not seem so bad. In fact, those cries soon transformed into whimsical, lighthearted laughter. Happiness. You smiled, relaxing in the embrace. You could die here and you'd be content.
You take a deep breath - the last breath - as you drift off into a dreadful, yet peaceful demise.
"Come home, my child."
Annabella Marie awoke with a jolt, papers flying in every which direction. The young conjurer, startled and a bit spooked, blinked rapidly to clear her eyes from the intense, dazed sleeping state she'd previously woken up from. Incredibly pale hands came up to wipe at the dried slobber that had formed on the outer corners of her lips. She groaned inwardly upon seeing the mess on the floor, papers scattered all around her desk.
"Of course," She commented bitterly to herself. If she didn't have that article written by the end of the day, she would surely be fired. She needed this job desperately. The Breton stood up abruptly and began to gather the papers into an organized stack. Seemed like time was beginning to slow down, for the annoyance of finding and picking up each parchment was similar to looking for a needle in a haystack. It could be done, but the process of searching under every little nook and cranny was insufferable. Okay, so maybe it wasn't that extreme, but the minor inconvenience was taking a toll on the girl. Her day had been hard enough as is, especially considering that strange dream. No. Nightmare would be the more appropriate term to use.
"A-ha!" She exclaimed as she found her last sheet of parchment that had carelessly made it's way under her chair. The article was nearing completion, but there were still some finishing touches to be added. With her sluggish, drowsy state, she knew nothing would get done. Thankfully she kept stamina potions on her being at all times. Digging through the parcel at her feet, she pulled out two green vials. One for extreme stamina and one for minor.
"Extreme it is," She mumbled, tilting her head back to drink the concoction in two swallows. The feeling of immediately being invigorated was always a great boost when it came to her work, though the Breton always had to remember to take it easy and not drink too many in one day. Nasty bit of business stamina potions were if you abused them as one would skooma. She shuddered at the thought before picking up her quill and dipping it in the ink.
Annabella Marie was an excellent mage. One of the best, in fact. If she were given another chance, then perhaps that stuck up Mages Guild would have seen her true potential. Instead, they judge her according to one miniscule mistake. She passed their tests with flying colors and was immediately admired by many of her fellow pupils for joining their ranks at the Imperial City so easily, so why then, did they dismiss her services and discharge her from her duties like a wet rag when she made one little mistake-!
The quill in her hand broke like a twig as her anger got the better of her. Annabella hastily used her hand to swipe away the pieces into a nearby trash bin she kept at her desk. There were normally just parchments filled with a slight error or two shoved in the bin, but after today, she found that this had been the third quill to meet its fate and join the parchment.
The breton rubbed at her temples, staring at the unfinished work at her desk. It was bad enough the work wasn't fully complete, but now she had to muster up her courage and ask her employer for one last quill. She glanced down at her article, expeditiously picking out more errors she had previously not seen until now.
By the divines, how was she supposed to get anything done when her mind was in a constant state of unrest? Perhaps picking up a job at The Black Horse Courier wasn't such a grand idea. After all, she went from casting spells to splotching ink. She grimaced as she tore her eyes - and body - away from the paper. The Breton stood and stretched her limbs, her bones popping as she tried to blow off some steam.
There was a sudden knock on the door, startling the girl from her stretches. Her brows furrowed as she glared daggers at the insulting object causing a racket. Perhaps she could sneak out the back window and come back later and tell Ja'vani she had left earlier to go get some more ink. Unfortunately, this place was fully stocked with ink downstairs and that was a horribly thought out lie. The Breton pursed her lips together, completely out of ideas to get her out of this mess. Guess honesty was the best policy, now.
"Come in," She sighed, plopping back down on the incommodious, wooden chair. If she was able to keep her job here, she had wondered if they would eventually allow her a more appropriate chair for the amount of hours she had to reside on the offending object. Her bum ached at the thought.
"Anna," Came a stern voice from the doorway. She looked over to see a Khajiit male, a bit taller than herself, but not by much. His fur had a soft look to it; akin to those sabers she had read about and seen paintings of from the wintery lands of Skyrim.
"Is this one's work still not done?" He questioned as he glanced at the Breton with a curious expression. Ja'vani was never cruel to her, nor was he ever too disappointed. Today, however, he seemed to be a bit unhappy with her progress.
"I got a bit distracted," She sheepishly ran a hand up the back of her neck to scratch at the area. She was out of ideas and she knew this wasn't a good look.
"This one's always getting distracted," He remarked, an unamused expression dotting across his features. "We need this done by the evening! It was supposed to be ready for printing this morning, but we were generous and gave you another day of work."
"I-I'm gonna get it done," She stammered as she shoved a blonde lock out of her eyes, which were now prickling as she held back tears. Damn it all. "I just need another quill and then I ca-"
"Another quill? By the divines, how do you manage to break so many quills?" The Khajiit threw his hands in the air and shook his head. "Mara help me."
"I'm sorry, Ja'vani," She spoke up, her voice sounding incredibly miniscule as she shoved another piece of hair away from her face. "Just give me one more hour and I promise you, I'll get it done."
"I'm tired of this one's excuses," He hissed as he lightly shook his head before sighing in defeat. "I'm sorry, Anna. But I have to remove you from your position."
"But I-" She stopped short of herself when she seen the sorrowful look on the Khajiits face. He didn't want to fire her, but he did have to make a living as well. The Breton was only getting in his way. She sighed. "I'll pack my things."
"That would be best," He turned to leave, but not before tilting his head back in her general direction. "I am truly sorry, but your talents are best suited elsewhere."
Talents? What talents? She fumed at the unfinished work before her. Her failure. Standing abruptly, she swiftly picked up the small stack of parchment and began tearing each one down the center until all that was left was mere shreds. Good riddance, she thought as she watched that last shred fall into the bin. It was a huge blow to her to have to pack all her stuff in her satchel, but she had known it was coming. And so what? It was only a minor setback.
Annabella Marie was no quitter. So she had an accident with the Mages Guild and she couldn't write a news article for The Black Horse Courier.. what of it? There were other things that in life that maybe she had a particular knack for. And who knows? Maybe she would amount to something after all.
Slinging her pack over her shoulder, she looked back at the place she'd called home for the past three weeks, sighed, and walked downstairs and out the front door.
It was a relief to be out in the open, the air fresh and crisp as the sun began to set. The Imperial City was still bustling with activity, namely tourists and the like. It wasn't unusual, nor was it a rarity to see so many people scattering around to look at all the landmarks of the infamous capitol. And really, who could blame them? The city was absolutely gorgeous, full of incredible sights and history - oh, the history! - the same city that the last heir of the Septim line had defeated the fowl Mehrunes Dagon, the Lord of Destruction in. The statue of the avatar of Akatosh, she had presumed, garnered the most attention from the foreign folk. The Market District also sold many oddities and assortment of goods for the weary traveler and the curious tourists. No wonder it was the most visited part of the City, save for the Temple of the One where the statue made its home.
Annabella preferred the luxuries of the Talos Plaza District, but could scarcely afford the merchandise there, much less The Tiber Septim Hotel. So it was back to the Merchants Inn with the Breton. Once she exchanged pleasantries with the innkeeper and made her way up to her rented room for the night, she wasted little time in plopping herself down onto the bed. Sleep wouldn't come easy tonight, that was for damn sure.
So many thoughts plagued the girls mind. Not only had she failed as a mage, but she also failed as a writer. Go figure; she was good for nothing. Perhaps The Arena would accept her. She snorted at the thought. Her? A fighter in a pit with a bunch of battleswords and maces? No thanks. No; that was definitely not part of the plan. When thinking of The Fighters Guild, she came to the same conclusion. It was an absolute no on all accounts. Though it was a damn shame she wasn't strong enough, nor big enough. They took just about anyone in, no matter the experience. For the Breton, it would be a suicide mission.
Annabella brought the blanket up to her chin as she snuggled into bed for the evening, her shoes hitting the floor with a soft thump. No matter what the day had brought, tomorrow was a new one. One that she would greet with wide, open arms. Perhaps Lady Luck would bestow upon her some of her fortunes.
Upon closing her eyes, she discovered that sleep did indeed come easy to her that night.
Just as soon as you closed your eyes, you opened them, only to be greeted with your former room in the mages guild. You'd just graduated into a full member of the guild, your new roommates congratulating you and showing you around the quarters you'd share with two other woman - an Imperial and a Nord. Both were exceptionally nice to you, almost too nice.
Just as nothing in your life lasts forever, neither did this.
Whispers.
Snickers.
Pointing and glaring behind your back - you knew they did it. They didn't exactly hide it. They were jealous of you; envious, even. Or perhaps they were making fun of you for another reason entirely.
It went on for days.. then weeks.. which soon turned into three solid months.
It was maddening. It drove you to that breaking point. You had to clear your head. To stop yourself from doing something you'd regret. But alas, it too did not last. In your fury, you conjured a flame atronach, commanding it to burn down the building and destroy them in the most hottest of flames from Oblivion, itself. You watched in anticipation as the flame atronach got closer and closer, the Imperial and Nord both bursting into scorching hot flames.
Of course, you had a reputation to upkeep. The jails were much too cramped for your luxurious lifestyle, so you lie. Lied so easily. It came so naturally to you. Your silver tongue always came into play nicely to cover up situations such as this.
For this wasn't the first time you had an accident, was it? The merchant who gave you a bad deal. The innkeeper in Bruma who stole ten septims from your satchel, the snarky Bosmer who shot you an annoying glance in a secluded part of town.. you were a murderer. You knew that as well as you knew your own name.
You face was devoid of emotions when you made your kill, nothing stood in your way. You enjoyed the torture, the anguished screams of your victims as you watched them take their last breath... you are a murderer.
"NO," I scream silently as the voices ring throughout my head. "I'm not a murderer!"
You are a murderer...
... are a murderer...
murderer...
MURDERER-!
"NO!" Annabella screamed as she shot up in bed, her blonde locks sticking to her forehead with a fountain of sweat. She sighed as she realized it was just a dream. The Breton placed her hands on her face as she whimpered softly into her own embrace.
They were all accidents. She hadn't meant to harm them. It just happened that way. She wasn't a murderer, no matter what anyone told her. It was an accident. No one needed to be harmed, nor killed. They just needed to listen to her and treat her with respect. It was an accident. It wasn't her fault. It was an accident.
Annabella's erratic thoughts calmed her mind slightly. She was a good person. She smiled as she wiped a stray tear off of her cheek and snuggled back into the warmth of her blankets. Perhaps tomorrow she'd go to the Mystic Emporium to check and see if they had anything in stock for bad dreams. Alchemy was definitely not one of her strong suits, so she'd need to buy it straight out. Maybe someday she could get herself a tutor. She scoffed at the idea. She was certain whomever she got would tell her she failed at being an alchemist as well.
Go figure that the one thing she was proficient at was the one thing that got her banned from the Mages Guild: Conjuration. Someday someone would recognize her talents. Someday. Just not today. Annabella was almost asleep when she heard a faint voice; that same voice from her dream earlier that night. That motherly, sickening sweet voice. She tried to ignore it, but it prodded at her very being, whispering a barely audible sentence. One that she knew would change her life around completely, but for better or for worse?
"Come home to me, my child. Skyrim awaits you."