An Apple a Day

An apple a day leads the healer astray.

At least that's what her mother had always told her. Annabella took a hearty bite of the golden, delicious apple she held firmly in her palm as she pushed open the heavy doors of the Mystic Emporium, an alchemy shop not too far away from The Merchants Inn. Annabella was on friendly terms with the owner, Or, at the very least, was moderately acquainted with.

The Mystic Emporium had everything one familiar with magic could possibly need; spells, scrolls, soul gems, and alchemy ingredients, as well as potions. The inside was overly decorated in what Annabella would deem as gaudy beyond belief. Tapestries covered every inch of the wall, leaving only limited openings between fabric to catch a glimpse of the stone surface. Statues of Aedra littered the shelfs, all shining brightly as if polished on a daily basis, and the floor had newly been renovated into a plush, carpeted mess of red and gold.

While it was a bit too spectacular for a Breton of her stature, it suited the owner marvelously. The shopkeeper was a young Altmer woman whom had sailed to the Imperial City to make a decent living. Where she came from, Annabella hadn't known. She wasn't rude, nor that bold to question it, though she had assumed she hailed from the Summerset Isles. Her name was Andranirya and, similar to how considerably drawn out her name was, her appearance suited it. Wearing a gown of the finest quality and hair in the perfect bun, she had looked like a goddess, herself. Though, hard as she did try to be perfect, she couldn't help but to always have the bitterest of looks on her face.

"Eating in my shop again, Annabella?" Came the stern voice from behind the counter, her long delicate fingers tapping against the glass display case with a look of pure boredom on her face.

"Oh, come now," She protested as she took another bite of the apple. "It's only an apple. I can't make a mess with this."

"That may be so, but that is still against the store's policy," She stated sternly, her mouth now a thin line stretching across her face. She sighed and pointed to the bin near the entrance. "Drop it in there or leave."

"Okay," Grumbled the irritated Breton as she bid her apple goodbye. She looked sorrowfully into the bin as her morsel now laid amongst rabble.

"Oh, for the love of Dibella and all that is great," She slammed a hand onto the counter, alarming Annabella and causing her to jump in surprise. "It's an apple. If you can't afford another one then you really can't afford to be in my shop."

"I can afford it," She protested with a huff, arms coming up to cross themselves in front of her waist. "I just don't like wasting food."

"Ah, to be resourceful," She sneered. "Now, what can I interest you in today? More spell books and scrolls you can use to burn down more buildings?"

"What?"

"Oh? Perhaps you could burn down an entire village this time." The Altmer leaned forward, her face grinning wickedly at the young conjurer.

"H-how do you know about that?"

"Let's just say word gets around fast," She picked up a nearby piece of parchment to fan herself, all the while laughing bitterly to herself. Annabella placed a finger on her chin in thought. With that sort of reputation getting around about her little accident with the flame atronach, she would definitely not get any work offers. At this point, she was sure even the Fighters Guild would turn her away. Again; not that she would join that rowdy group of folk. Not her type of work.

Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, she focused her attention back on the Altmer, whom had taken to reading a book. So many questions she needed answers to, but she halted in her questioning fearing that the woman would just make her even more miserable in her petty teasing. "Do you have anything for bad dreams?"

"Oh," She exclaimed, looking back down at the Breton from behind the counter. She placed a hand on her heart, leaving the other in the middle of her book as a place holder. "I thought you'd left. You were eerily quiet. Too quiet."

Annabella was used to dealing with her type, for a good chunk of mages were Altmer. They were, after all, born with the highest Magicka count. And boy, did they make sure others knew it. A hubris sort of race, that was for sure. The woman glanced at her, the usual look of boredom still prominent on her sharp face.

"Do you have anything for bad dreams?" She inquired, anxious to stop the ridiculous nightmares she'd been experiencing every time she fell asleep. It was strange that these dreams were even occurring, for she'd never had night terrors before. In fact, she couldn't remember the last time she even had an actual, pleasant dream.

"No," She responded curtly, her eyes narrowing before glancing back at her book. "We will get more shipments in next week. Check back then."

"But aren't you an alchemist?" She quirked a brow as gestured towards the alchemy table in the corner of the room. Perhaps that was simply a decoration as well.

"I am," She responded, her tone of voice raising with every syllable. "But I don't have the time in the day to make potions on a whim," She waved her hand towards the exit. "There's the door. Come back next week. Or don't. It matters not to me what you do."

Annabella snorted unladylike before pushing open the heavy doors in one swift motion, promptly letting them slam behind her. Though she may or may not have kicked it in with her heel for dramatization. Either way, the Breton was at her limit that day and for reasons unknown, she felt chills run up her spine. She glanced around the Market District to see people bustling about without a care in the world, all of them wearing cool garments to enjoy the burst of heat the sun had been shining over the city.

The Breton shivered as she felt goosebumps pop out of her skin, immediately wrapping her arms around her and simultaneously rubbing at her arms to get the sensation to leave. Unfortunately, it did not.

Come home... child.

Annabella perked up slightly, looking in all which directions. That voice again; the one from her dreams. She frowned as the people continued to walk past her, some bumping into her shoulder, but paying no mind to her confused state.

Come home.. we are waiting for you.

Turning in all which direction, she began to look and see if anyone had just been playing a colossal joke on her. Much to her dismay, there was nobody there even looking in her direction.

Come home.. come home.. come home.. come home-!

For the first time in a long time, she felt a sensation that she rarely dealt with. Fear. Bringing both hands up to her head, she placed them firmly on her ears and slowly slid down the wall, tears brimming at the corners of her eyes as she squeezed them shut. It appeared the more she struggled to keep the voice out, the louder it got. It was very clear what it wanted. Come home? Where was home?

Skyrim awaits you, my child. COME HOME.

"Are you okay, dear?" Annabella flinched as a hand came down to rest upon her shoulder, the worried eyes of an elder Imperial gazing down at her with concern. The Breton nodded at the lady, stating that she had a queasy stomach. After a few more comments from the woman, she took her leave. Breathing a sigh of relief, Annabella glanced around the people now staring directly at her. Gulping, she made a sudden mad dash back to the inn, her mind going in all sorts of directions.

Skyrim? What in Oblivions name for-?

She ignored the pleasantries of the innkeeper and went straight to her room. Desperately needing relief, she reached over and popped open an unused bottle of minor healing potion and drank it in two gulps. There was no way in hell she was going to listen to a strange voice in her head. That was the definition of crazy.

The Breton sniffed slightly as she wiped away the residue of potion from the corner of her mouth. Perhaps a change of clothes would do her good. She walked over to the wardrobe and gently tugged it open, only to be met with a bloodcurdling scream that made her place her hands over her ears and fall on her behind, the force of the voice shaking her entire being.

"W-what in the world?" Apparently she had, once again, been the only one to hear it, for no one else in the building seemed concerned with the noise. Annabella peeked her eyes open to look at the interior of the wardrobe, her breath catching itself in her throat as she seen a grotesque sight before her. Nailed directly into the back of the wardrobe was a skeletal being, patches of rotting flesh still clung to the bones. She instinctively covered her nose up, the smell revolting and gag-inducing. What was the most disturbing to the Breton had to have been the eyes. It was a skeleton, so - naturally - it was dead, but the eyes; oh, the eyes! Bright, red and glowing hues stared a hole through her very being.

In one quick motion, she used her foot to slam shut the door. She let out a small noise, akin to that of an animal caught in the crossfire of a spell gone awry. I'm crazy! She thought as she stood up, haphazardly knocking over the objects on the nightstand as she bumped into it. Annabella plopped down on the bed, feet hanging over the edge with her head nestled in her hands. Whatever the hell was happening reminded her of what Khajiit seemed to act like when they had a bit too much skooma. Annabella had never done skooma in her life, but she knew that if it the hallucinations were as bad as this, she'd never attempt it. Not that she had plans to do so previously, mind you.

Come home. Skyrim awaits you, my daughter.

Annabella growled this time and slammed her hands down on either side of her form on the bed. The voice again! It needed to leave. "What do you want?"

Skyrim awaits you. All will fall into place.

"Skyrim," She mused, her heartbeat slowing down to it's usual beat. As absolutely terrifying as this all was, Annabella couldn't help but realize that whatever was haunting her meant her no harm. In fact, it almost seemed like a mother looking for her long-lost daughter. "If I go there, will you leave me alone?"

Silence. Deafening silence.

"Oh, so now you want to ignore me," She commented dully, apparently to herself. She looked around the room to find not a soul in sight, nor did the voice ever reappear. Annabella stood up from her seated position on the bed to slowly open up the wardrobe, her brows raising in amusement when she found nothing amiss except for her two outfits of clothes.

So she was going mad.

The Breton sighed and began to pace back and forth, hands behind her back as her brain went into overdrive. She needed out of this city. Perhaps she could go to Anvil to try to find work. If she didn't mind working with pirates, that is. She shuddered. Okay, so Anvil wasn't an option. She could go to Bravil, but soon wrinkled her nose at the thought. The houses were literally wooden shacks. She wanted a bit of luxury out of life and Bravil sure as hell wasn't the place for it.

She continued to go through the list of places in Cyrodiil that might have suited her, but one place had been poking and prodding at her mind. Skyrim.

The Breton gritted her teeth and shook her head. Was she really going to go to Skyrim with a bunch of burly Nords just because her hallucinations were urging her to? Then again, what did she truly have to lose?

Her mind was made up. She began to pack her items, but seemingly taking a bit longer than she normally would have. While she had no true issue with going to Skyrim, Cyrodiil had been her home since birth and it pained her to leave it. It was not like she had any remaining family members, so she didn't know why it affected her so much. Her mother had died when she was only 13. They'd been living on the streets up until that point, always begging for a scrap of food or a single gold septim. It was a horrid memory and perhaps Skyrim would be better for her in the long run.

Once she had everything packed away, she walked over to the door, her luggage draped over her shoulder in a small satchel. She waited... desperately wanting to hear that voice again. Strange for a voice to put so much fear into a person while simultaneously giving them comfort.

When it was clear the voice was no longer coming back, a single red apple rolled out of nowhere, gently bumping into her foot. Annabella glanced around the room suspiciously before shoving the apple off to the side with the side of her foot. If her hallucinations were trying to scare her, this was not the way to do it.

And so she left and did not look back. She had a new adventure awaiting her.

Unbeknown to the Breton, a shadowy figure stood in the far corner of the darkest part of the room, his gaze following her every move carefully, smirking when she got rid of the offending object that had rolled into her. Slowly, a smile graced his features when she vanished from the room, his hand reaching out to grasp the apple firmly. Sithis was pleased with his work.