It's not mine

Its been awhile since I last visited you, oh fair one. I forgot about you I'm afraid, until I found myself here. I was in the midst of the market, and then I remember being here. Looking down on you, watching as your eyes meet mine in sorrow, knowing me so well that it scares me. If I could I would stop coming here, stop giving away my being, giving you power over me, stop you making me flinch in pain with those soft grey eyes. The way tears drip as I speak.

I know you must hate me, loathe me. I interrupt you from your solitude, the waves that cease as I appear, the stillness, the lack of life when I turn up. But I can't help it you draw me closer and closer. You are worse than the enchanters, you have the power of the guilty.

How many lives have you claimed, more than mine I'm sure, the lost souls who wander to close, who misjudge the strength of the earth beneath them, all to catch a glimpse of you. But I see you here, inside, knowing that you wait for me, knowing what you look like.

I don't know what you want of me today though, I can't tell you anymore of my dream, it still hasn't visited me, and my heart is still sick with need, it would only be cruel to rake over thoses coals. But you aren't known for your warmth are you.

So what do you want me to say, would you like to know of my days away from here? How I spent the last moon? Shall I tell you of my occupation, the one you made me get? Or how about my visit to the cold isles. You must be wondering I'm sure, how now after there was no one for several years the isle is populated once more. Hadn't I scared them all away? They think I am dead. They know I am dead, they believe I am dead. In the very core of their beliefs I am dead, every child knows about me, books have been written about me, myths told, songs sung. I am as famous as the great Vivec. Impressive isn't it, that one such as me, who wouldn't be recognised by even my own mother is known by all. I've even joined in on the cheers as the celebration of my death is celebrated. Only the Daedra know that it is all lies, but they will not let my secret be known.

When they went to the cold isle, and when I say they, I mean everyone, they began to lose faith, they began to not need them. Magicka didn't vanish without them, nor did their fighting abilities. Even the blessings didn't vanish. Oh a few stayed faithful, but that was more out of tradition than belief. They couldn't understand why the Daedra hadn't destroyed me, why they hadn't ended my madness, my cruelty. And it started people off, remembering the past troubles, why the Daedra for all their mighty words, why hadn't they stepped in and done something instead of leaving it up to the people to deal with. So they lost faith, and the Daedra didn't like it, no one paid tribute to them, they lost the love and respect. Even when they appeared before the people, there was no longer the flocks of people gathering round to gaze upon them. Instead people turned away and left, disgusted.

So we did a deal, maybe that is the final straw why they will never leave me alone? That they needed me a lot more than I needed them. They needed me dead, by their hands to instil fear in their peoples hearts, to win back the respect.

I know you don't like me talking about them like that, and I admit they are things of power and beauty but I lost my standing long ago. So they killed me in all but my reality. And so the people returned, obedient and respectful, living with the knowledge that they were blessed with strong powerful Daedra, and that the threat of me was dead.

And my punishment, my punishment was to lose my self. I guess I don't know what to do any more, I just – I just need to stop.

A man passed me by the other day. He told me to stop lying, that he had listened to me come here and lie the whole time through. He didn't believe a word I said, but you believe me don't you, you believe me fair one, you know who I am, you know what I did, how I did it, who I am, what I am. You believe me, you believe me, I believe me, so you must, you do and you must. I should never have listened to that man. He was deluded.

I don't know if I should even tell you what he said to me, he told me that, well that he had never heard of me, that he hadn't even heard of the Sixth House, that there was no such thing as the mass slaughter, or the war of the houses, that I made it all up. But what would that make me. If I made up everything, if my life was so miserable that I had to pretend to be this evil creature.

Fin

Thats it for now. Though who knows crazy fae may return with more ramblings of crazed lunacy.