It was a rainy morning when my father would not wake up. I felt as if I had sunk into some nightmarish pit where there was no light. I spent several days by myself, sitting at my kitchen table and staring into nothingness. I simply stared downward at the pen and piece of paper in front of me, despairing. As you may or not know, dear reader, in Imperial culture, it is customary to give a eulogy in the form of a song, extolling the life and virtues of the deceased. If the song is well written then it is fabled that the soul of the deceased will rest in the care of Akatosh. If not, then the deceased cannot be satisfied and might not gain entry into the halls of the dragon god. I was never really one for all the myth and hoopla, but I did want to do my very best to commemorate his memory. I had tried for many days to come up with something that I could use to fulfill my duty as a son, but words eluded me. I couldn't focus my mind because all I could do was think of Layala. She had bewitched me like a sorceress, and my need for her was great. With my father and her gone I was truly, and utterly alone. The house felt, empty and large. I would wake up and there would be no sound, no life, just still and cold silence. I wonder if you are attacked by a voice in the night, a voice that will come for you when you are most weak? Does it toy with you when you are trying to sleep? Does it gnaw away at you while you sit and eat your breakfast alone on a dark and rainy day? During the days up until my father's funeral, I tortured myself with thoughts of despair. I envisioned a life alone, where I would eventually pass away into oblivion, obscure and unloved. Without Layala, I had no meaning and no reason to live.

The day of the funeral came, exactly one week after my father's death as per Imperial custom. The Chapel of Dibella was filled with family friends and most of the citizenry of Anvil. My father was not the most personable man, but people did have a great deal of respect for his evenhandedness and fair dealings. I was clothed in the white and silver robe of mourning that all Imperials wear on the day of the funeral, to show that their loved ones were rich in life. The head priest, a Redguard woman named Trevaia, was already at the altar, waiting for me to take my place by her side. I looked out into the congregation, some faces familiar, and some most definitely unknown. An elderly woman started to play the dirge on the organ, and I knew it was time for me to begin the song I had composed. With tears welling in my eyes, I opened my mouth. My voice came out, thankfully, as I had feared all morning I would make a fool of myself on the day of my father's burial. I began to sing, and as I looked upwards towards the ceiling. I silently hoped Dibella was listening.

Late at night the stars were stolen

Who could see the shadowy thief?

The moon did not glow, its heart had broken

It cried onto the land, tears of grief.

Where now would the kings of yore sleep

Their celestial homes away in the night

Where is that silver, glimmering keep

That place, where there had been no light?

The service continued after my song, and I was glad to finally be done with the entire ceremony. I talked with family and friends outside the chapel, each of them wishing me the best of fortune and their condolences. In the midst of all these pleasantries, I caught Layala in the corner of my eye. It had started to rain, a little more than drizzle. I broke away from the funeral as quickly as I could and went to her. Her face was surprisingly pale as if the gold had been flushed out of it. She simply stood their, her hands clasped, her eyes tired and drooping.

I had felt a mix of joy and pain, two strong sensations I had much trouble controlling. She moved towards me, and looked into my eyes with an unfathomable compassion.

"I heard your song," she said. "It was beautiful…"

"Thank you, I did my best." Oh, I remember how much I wanted to hold her close to me at that time, but the memories of the incident at the beach had held me back. Layala simply walked a little past me and stared at the church.

"Why did you not come in though? It would've been appropriate to be in the congregation during the ceremony…" I couldn't figure out why she would wait for me outside of the church of all things.

"The Nine and I do not agree. Besides I felt that I would be a little out of place. I did not know your father at all," she said in a distinctly low tone of voice. I moved in slowly behind her, my face coming within scant millimeters of hers. How I ached for her! She was like a drug that was overpowering. She turned to me, our eyes locking in place.

"I feared I would never see you again," I replied.

"I couldn't stay away. I am sorry for everything, it's all my fault."

"No, please…please don't say things like that. We are here…now…together…" I breathed, holding her tightly in my arms. We embraced and I kissed her passionately. Afterwards we just stood their in each others arms, breathing heavily, drunk in the moment.

"I…came to say goodbye…" she whispered to me, tears welling in her eyes.

"Why? Why! You cannot go! You cannot leave me! I will go where you go!"

"You can't! I…life is going to change for me. You…just can't be part of it."

"I will go wherever you go, I will be with you…" I said resolutely. The dark thoughts I had in my solitude before the funeral came flooding back: The empty home, the meaningless life, a lonely death.

"You can't mean that. You don't know what you're saying…"

"We won't know until we try…"

She lowered her eyes, and looked down at the ground.

"I want to show you something…" she said.

I simply nodded, resolute in never wanting to be away from her, whatever the cost might be. She held my hand and led me out of the city. We saddled up and journeyed north through the forest, to where I did not know. After possibly an hours ride north, I saw a large white statue in the distance. There were torches and benches, as well as several people I recognized from town. Looking upwards towards the statue I was disgusted by its hideousness.

"What is this place?" I remember asking myself repeatedly.

We had stopped riding and got off the horse. Layala had this look of pure ecstasy as she admired the statue. She and the other people there, a Khajiti woman and two nords, began to dance in a circle, swaying to some unheard melody. Layala had transformed before my very eyes, into something I had never seen before. As she leaped two and fro, her eyes were distant and she seemed to be completely disjointed from reality. I was a bit frightened at the time, not knowing what was really going on. When their dance had finished, Layala turned to me and held my hands.

"Join us won't you? This is the shrine of Malacath, the great Daedra god!" she said beaming.

That should've been my first sign to leave, my first sign to run away as far from Layala as I could. But I was too weak then, friend. I was too taken in by her eyes, her smell, her intoxicating presence. My father warned me about Daedra worship. He had told me stories as a child about the evil Daedric princes, the gods that had threatened all of Tamriel. But my father's voice was gone, and instead all I could hear was Layala's haunting tone.

"Is this what you wanted to show me?" I said naively.

"Well this and one more thing…" Layala went to her knapsack and pulled out a brown leather tome with several strange symbols on the cover. She handed it to me, gently caressing the face of the book.

"Mythic Dawn Commentaries?" Ahh, my dear reader, it was the beginning of the end.