But to cut in between, there is not one story occurring at the given time but rather several that led to an inevitable convergence in time that will all inevitably twist and shrink into a pile of mush. We shall now rewind to the day Irina and Sheogorath made their contract and take a look into the simple lives of the Prince, Duke, and Duchess of the Shivering Isles.

The Duke of Mania and Duchess of Dementia, Samael, and Verona, respectively, were, in all actuality, the 'true' rulers of the Isles. It was they who made laws, and it was they who compromised with those who disputed said laws. Whenever their Lord was out and about on vacation, which had to be approximately eight out of the twelve months that make up a year, the responsibilities of the kingdom fell upon them.

So at that point in time, Verona walked with great strides across the throne room over to her brother's section of the castle, Haskill at the toe of her long skirt. Talks of "good for nothing, sweet-talking bitch," spewed out of her mouth at the speed of a tree's fall. Haskill walked silently, but not without his own grievances swirling around in his mind. They all lead to quick glances at the small hourglass watch in his hand.

She yanked open the grand door to Maina and followed the sound of broken tunes to the painter's room, which held not a single painter, but a lethargic man who strummed at his cracked lyre with closed eyes on a small stump of wood; butterflies danced around him in rhythm.

Verona rushed up to him and happily smacked his eyes open with the bundle of paper she had in hand.

The man stumbled and rubbed his cheek gingerly. A flash of anger crossed his eyes, but he was too tired to hold onto it. "Did you know Verona," he drawls. "Hitting random people in the street will get you locked up in prison?"

"Good thing we have no such law," Verona replied. She handed him the paper, which he took. He looked over the contents and let out a small sigh.

"Okay, look. I had absolutely no idea that they called the performance off." He said. "I've been scouring the listing all night. We can still get a pretty good seat at the Arena, but the theater-."

"To which Samael am I speaking right now?"

"Sober."

"Good. So I won't feel bad saying this," Verona cleared her throat, closed her eyes, opened them, and then proceeded to scream like a vengeful ghost of a slaughtered bride-to-be. "What in mother's name do you fucking mean the theatre is fully booked?! Are you that much of a dullard?"

"Verona-"

"Three weeks, Samael! Three fucking weeks, I tell you in advance, that perhaps we shouldn't try to grab a seat the night before. But what I say falls out of your ears like wine."

"That's a weird analogy, but yes, I suppose."

"Samael-"

"Verona, listen." He interrupted. "So, we won't be able to make it to the theater. Boo hoo. There are much more spirited performances at the Arena, and I'm certain that mother prefers bloodbaths more than a harpy excitedly screeching in her ear. So we'll go to the theater next time and-"

A howl of laughter left his sister's lungs like air. She looked at him with a pleased expression but not without fury. "You obviously did not read past the first page."

"There's more than one paper in the first place?"

"Do you wish me to smack you with them again so you can feel them all?"

He snatched the papers up before Verona could extend her arm. He flipped through them casually, half reading and half pretending until he saw the last page. His eyes widened in shock as his pupils scanned every single sentence on the paper, particularly zooming in upon the part that said "an epic love."

"Verona, please tell me this isn't what you booked?"

"It sure is."

"Oh, sweet uncle," Samael said, head in his hands. "We are so fucked."

"What?"

"You know what this is about, Verona. You know how loony she gets when she sees this stuff."

Verona scoffed. "At least I took steps to do something instead of sitting on a damn tree stump and watching the leaves fall."

"Watching leaves fall is far better than what you've done."

"Unlike you, Samael, I pay attention to mother's little habits." she snapped her fingers, and Haskill walked up from his stance next to the door rather quickly. He placed a flyer in her hand, which she gladly shoved in her sibling's face. "Just yesterday, she was taking a small stroll around the city when this fell out of her pocket," the chamberlain handed her a paper, which she gave to her brother. "This is what it was."

Samael raised a brow. "Why were you tailing her?"

"I was going to the temple to settle a dispute between the priests. I know duty is like alchemy to you." she crossed her arms.

"Ugh, Verona, everyone knows that the priests simply complain; they don't actually do shit. It's like the fights in the Imperial city— all talk, no rumble," he said as he looked at the paper.

It was a flier written in big, intricately drawn letters that all connected and swirled from one to another. Right in the middle was a very detailed drawing of a young Imperial woman and another Imperial man, who stared at each other in such a lustful manner, it took Samael all he had not to set the paper alight right there. Towards the bottom were the words, "A love story for the ages. "

Samael sucked his teeth. "She could've just been having a laugh."

Verona snatched the paper from his hands. She looked at Samael with annoyance, which he returned equally in kind. "I highly doubt that. As you said, she gets crazy when she sees this stuff."

"Verona, Verona," said Samael. He put his head in his hands. The minor pains of a headache were begging to form in his skull. "Even if she wants to see it, we must ask, 'is it good for her?' 'Is it good for us?' To both those questions, the answer is a resounding 'no.'"

"Samael, it is one night. One night we have to sit through. And might I remind you, you brought this upon yourself?"

"And how in mother's name did I do that?"

"Remember the seats for the play you didn't reserve? We could've been seeing Talos's many feats."

Samael rolled his eyes. "Yes, because that story always gets better and better the more you hear it. Even after the thousandth time."

"Samael," she put her hands on his shoulders. He could feel her long nails dig into his flesh, even with his sweater on. "Don't mess this up."

He grabbed her wrist and shoved her hands off. He leaned in until he was just an inch from her face. "I am not messing anything up, Verona. That would be you—"

"Lord Sheogorath arrives," Haskill's monotone voice cut into them like knives. They both straightened up and dashed over to the throne room.

Samael arrived just before his sister could reach the dining room. He looked toward the grand doorway and saw his mother take her staff from one of the Aureals. His feet operated before his mind could catch up with him. He flew from one end of the room to the other, pulling his mother into a tight embrace and catching Sheogorath quite off guard. A loud boom of thunder made him jump back.

Sheogorath turned around in an instant. Her face snapped from anger to pure happiness. "Oh, I am quite sorry, dear. You know surprises make my soul shiver," she said. She waved away the Aureal, cupped his face in her hands, and kissed him on the cheek. "How has my boy been?"

Samael laughed. "Quite alright, mother. Some minor inconveniences, but nothing too serious."

"If that's how you wish to describe the pseudo-war that broke out in Passwall, then I suppose that is correct."

A small "tsk" escaped from Samael's mouth as he peered at the open door that led to the House of Mania. There stood Verona, Haskill at her side. She gave a slight bow.

"I greet you, mother. I do hope your journey went well."

Sheogorath sucked her teeth loudly. "Come now, Verona. That is no way to greet your loving mother," she crossed the room before Verona could react and pulled her into something that could only be called 'engulfing,' more than it could be hugging. Verona struggled violently, both out of a lack of air and her own dignity. Her fighting only escalated when she heard Samael's loud snicker in the background.

Sheogorath only hugged tighter, feeling as though the girl in her arms could slip. "Oh, my beloved little girl. How you've grown since I last seen you!"

"That was only two months ago, mother," she said. Her voice was muffled by the silk of Sheogorath's sleeve. "The only thing I've grown since then is a headache."

Verona was shoved out of her mother's embrace in the time it took for a cat to skitter. Her mother's brows were furrowed harshly, and her jaw was squarely set. "When did that start? Have you been feeling hot lately? Cold?" she put a hand to her forehead. "Verona, what did I tell you about playing with dremora rats? They are cute as cuddly bears, but they carry all sorts of nasty bugs—"

"Mother," Verona interrupted. "I mean, I'm tired, that's all."

"Oh. Oh! My poor, poor dear," Sheogorath said and pulled her right back in. Verona made eye contact with her brother from her suffocating position nestled in the crook of Sheogorath's arms. The fucker smiled back at her smugly. She had half a mind to flip him off before, Sheogorath continued. "Should I get a doctor? A nurse, perhaps?"

"Oh, mother, that isn't—"

"Haskill!" The chamberlain quickly walked up to his master.

"Yes, my lord?"

"Go get lady Aund out of the dungeon. Tell her that if she wants to keep those pretty little fingers, then she should make haste. Great haste! Much greater than a mouse."

"Mother—"

"Shouldn't she move even quicker, though, mother?" Samael said. "Like a bee, not a mouse."

Verona glared at him. "Shut it, you annoying fu—"

"Oh, you are right, Samael. Such a smart boy I've raised! You heard that, Haskill?"

"Yes, my Lord. I will inform her immediately. Though, shall I tell the guards to unlock her chains?"

"Haskill, please don't—"

"Why, of course, Haskill! By me, common sense! Common sense!"

"I will try to have more of it, my lord, but last time you mentioned that all prisoners should be brought to the throne room cuffed."

"I did?"

"After that 'incident,' you insisted that all those 'floor scrapers in the dungeon' wear their binds for all eternity."

"Oh, yeah, I did, didn't I?" She said. It was a fleeting moment of clarity, as the next second, she was shouting her head off. Her grip on Verona was so tight that the girl saw colored dots float across her vision. "Well, whatever I said then, I override it now."

"As you wish, my lord." With that, Haskill quickly left the throne room in the direction of the Crucible part of the castle, leaving the happy family in the main hall to their own assorted devices.

Finally, Sheogorath yanked Verona out of her grip, who immediately began to topple over as she stood upright. Another clash of thunder and Sheogorath was damn near hysterical.

"Verona, speak to me, my dear!"

Verona blinked once, twice, and then another time for good measure. The world slowly gained clarity, at least as much as the Shivering Isles possessed, and she said with a slightly slurred tone. "I'm fine, mother."

"Really, Verona? You seem a bit out of it. Shall I go grab a bucket of water to clear your head?"

"Samael," Sheogorath warned, and the man immediately backed off. She then looked at the girl in her arms. "Can you stand up, dear?"

Verona nodded, slowly pushed herself away from the embrace of the Prince, and stood upright with all the grace she could muster. She smoothed out the skirt of her gown as she heard the snicker Samael gave off in the corner.

Sweet uncle, she really wanted to punch him.

"Anyway, mother, as I was saying, I don't need a nurse or healer. I am perfectly healthy."

"You're sure?" Sheogorath asked. Verona nodded.

"Mother, If I had come down with something, I would've told you," she said. "There is something I would like to speak with you about."

"The Gatekeeper giving you problems again, dear? Or is it the Grummites? Such nasty people, they are—"

"It is about tomorrow," Faintly, Verona heard the sigh Samael emitted from his spot in the room. She ignored him. "When are you free?"

"I'm always free, dear. Chains wouldn't look well on me."

"No, I don't mean it like that, mother. I mean, like time. What hours do you have to spare tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow," Sheogorath muttered and placed a pointed black fingernail on her chin as she began rambling to herself. "No one can predict the future, sweet Verona. But if I had to make a guess, between sordid Haskill's nagging and the stacks of paper on my desk," her yellow eyes found her daughter's. "Most likely, sometime at night. I'll find you."

Verona smiled. It was a rarity of her's that only came when she felt true joy, which was quite hard to find in Dementia and her family. "Just as I'd hoped. Thank you, mother."

"Is there something you need me for?"

"No, I just figured it would be nice to see Cyrodiil again. I heard it's changed." she cast a glance to Samael expectedly, which the man met with weary eyes. He grimaced for a moment but forced an easy face.

"I heard that the flower garden around the palace is still a sight to see."

"Oh, Samael, dear. If I wanted to see flowers, I'd get Haskill to plant some, not those smelly ones around Dementia. But that's too much for my dear chamberlain, so I'll settle for touring Mania," said Sheogorath. "Is that what you want to see, Verona? Some flowers?"

"Mother, what I've planned is sealed in my head until you see it with your own eyes tomorrow."

"Oh? A surprise! How I love them! Well, not all of them. Just the nice ones," she smiled at Verona. "And I'm sure yours will be wonderful, Verona."

Unconsciously her fingers clenched. "I'm sure it will," she said.

Haskill then came walking through with a nervous wreck of a woman with cuffs around her hands. She was sandwiched between two tall and imposing female Mazken guards. They stopped just short of the trio. A small synchronized curtsey and 'Greetings to Lord Sheogorath,' and then they were as silent as a mouse. Haskill was the next to speak.

"My Lord, I have retrieved the prisoner as you commanded."

For all she was worth, the lady forced an eager smile and tried a curtesy of her own. It was a mess. "I am happy to serve my Lord."

"Oh, that is all well and good, Haskill," Sheogorath said. "But I have no need for her anymore. Back to the dungeons you go, missy."

The lady's eyes widened in fear. "Wait, my Lord—"

But it was too late. The Mazken hooked their arms around Aund and dragged her back, kicking and screaming and all. Sheogorath sighed.

"I suppose I should get back to my regularly scheduled executions. What a bore."

"How sad, my Lord."

"Oh, Haskill, I don't need pity. I need help." She looked at the chamberlain. "Is there anything I should know before you drag me all over the kingdom, sweet Haskill?"

"Miss Verenim has requested your presence in Passwall. She claimed the Gatekeeper was acting funny again."

Sheogorath arched up one long brow and turned to Samael. "I thought you said you'd taken care of that last month?"

Samael shrugged. "I said I tried. As soon as I walked into her dingy dungeon, she kicked me out the door. She said she needed you and not some phony copy."

"Sweet, poor, Relmyna. Never could get the hint. Or the answer. Or any of my rejections." She sighed once more. "Why do we keep her around again?"

"She and her son provide security," Haskill said.

"Yes, yes, security. Wouldn't want Jyggalag's minions barging through again. Or Dagon's." She turned on her heels and headed towards the door. "Well, c'mon, Haskill. The realm isn't going to keep itself."

The chamberlain nodded. "Yes, my Lord."

"Mother, you will remember, yes?" said Verona.

Sheogorath smiled. "Yes, sweet Verona. I am not the type to forget. Unless I want to."

The chamberlain held the door open for his mistress. Sheogorath walked out, followed by Haskill, and the twins were left alone in the throne room, with only their thoughts and each other's not-so-amiable company.

Samael looked to Verona. Verona, in turn, looked to Samael.

The Duchess sized him up. She met his eyes through a narrow glare. "Shall do this like gentlemen?"

Samael met her look with a hard one of his own. "We shall."

And like all good gentlemen, they took this squabble to drinks.