This chapter is a little more... depressing than the first. It contains a little more cursing, more disturbing imagery, and lots of angst.
"Alone. Yes, that's the key word, the most awful word in the English tongue. Murder doesn't hold a candle to it, and hell is only a poor synonym."
Stephen King, 'Salem's Lot
"I heard that," Sheogorath said in reply to what I said. I had just stepped into the hallway. The walls had blackened further. Some places in the walls seemed to be rusting. He himself was gazing at the walls. We were just standing there. "Odd," he remarked, stepping over towards a wall and touching it. His forehead creased, and his crow's feet become more noticeable as he grimaced. "It's mold, or some sort of decadence," he informed me in disgust. He faced me, and sighed. I was puzzled by his behavior now. He sighed once more, only much deeper this time.
"This place is corrupting so rapidly, it's unbelievable," I remarked under my breath. He nodded gravely. He agreed, "Yes. It's progressing at quite a remarkable rate. It's very similar to what happens to a mortal's mind. It's very subtle at first. Just when it seems stable, the verdigris overcomes the resistance." His voice was calm. I swear there was a hint of awe in his voice, too. I followed behind him. He was pacing at an easy rate. His movement seemed a little strained, as if he was tired.
He came across a door that interested him that was further down the hallway. I opened it, and looked inside. I shifted uncomfortably. The sight inside was quite odd. The room was cramped. The lighting in the room was very poor. Only a few scattered lanterns brought light to the room. The walls were flesh colored, and almost seemed to be moving, breathing as if this room was living entity! This was not the most demented sight in the room.
Instead, that was the two deformed, grotesque monsters huddled in the corner. The larger one, who had a elongated, large, eyeless, pointed head, a whip-like tail, gray, rubbery skin, incredibly large talons on each of its lanky hands, and razor sharp fangs, was attacking the other monster. The larger beast was about the height of Sheogorath on its hind feet. Now, the other one was quite smaller. It was smaller by at least a head. It had brownish, rubbery skin, and a long proboscis with a very evil-looking spine coming out of it. It had no tail or eyes. The monster's legs were actually its arms, and its arms were actually its legs. The joints of the creature lacked skin, and usually exposed the bone. The smaller monster was shrieking in pain. It was difficult to tell what the larger creature was doing to it.
I heard a guttural growl. The smaller monster protested, and I heard a loud slashthrough the air. I suppose the petite creature hit the larger one. Suddenly, the room got brighter, and I could see what was happening. The large monster was behind the smaller one. The small abomination squealed as it was repeatedly stabbed with talons. The larger creature roared in triumph in its low voice. The smaller one screamed in its much higher voice. The wretched thing sounded like it was wailing. For a split second, it sounded like the cries of a woman.
The large monster turned around, and looked at me. Drool splattered lazily onto the floor. Its mouth was agape, and shown its brilliant white fangs. Its head was turned in my direction. It sniffed the air. I felt my heart pounding in my chest as it neared me. A cold sweat passed over my body. I did not want to be there. Sheogorath seemed to be shocked. He said or did nothing. When the creature was naught but a few inches from where I was standing, I was about to run.
Then, it gurgled quite incoherently, "Waaaullter. I deeeeed nut do id on perputhe. Whut you thuuuuuuw waaaaath meeene raaaaaiiiiij." I blinked. Sheogorath could take it no longer. He groaned, then forcefully pulled me out of the room by my robe. He slammed the door shut. He was panted, and sweat dripped from his forehead. His long-sleeve dress shirt was now translucent with his sweat. I stared at him with wide eyes, terrified. My heart was still thumping shrilly in my chest.
He frowned and held his head low. He slumped over, and his eyes seemed to take on a duller shade of green. I gazed at him. Gaining my senses, I asked him, "What the hell was that, Sheogorath?" It was quite silent between us for many moments. Finally, he answered. "I would rather not talk about it," he replied. His voice was detached. He exhaled deeper than ever. His eyes lifted onto me. They were full of hurt. Had he been reminded of something horrible that happened to him?
Idly, he began trotting on without me. For whatever reason there was, that imagery had depressed him. I didn't want him sad. Yet, in all my desire for him to be happier, I was numb. I wanted to hurt for him. Understanding him was getting so difficult. What had happened between him and Zarrexaij? Was there something much more than what I saw when I had scried their past and future? He was leaving so many questions of mine unanswered, and I was afraid to ask any more.
Almost as if he read my mind, he mumbled, "Sometimes, Walter, sins are better left unmentioned and unwashed. I'm sure you know that already. A white lie never hurt anyone." I was getting damned uncomfortable as I followed him. His unconceivable composure was perturbing me. It was getting pernicious. Finally, I reached out for his arm. He stopped, and turned towards me. I had also stopped. I stared at him heatedly. I believe he knew this. He looked quite innocent as he began to babble on, and I had enough. In my fit, I reached over and rung a slap across his slender porcelain face.
His eyes bugged out of his face. They were wide. His face was a bright, blotchy red. His jaw dropped. Sheogorath struggled to spit out words. His right hand clutched the cheek I had slapped. The Daedric Prince apologized, "Forgive me, for I hath said too much." His voice was humbled. He looked into my eye one last time before he sprinted for a door. This time, he was much too fast for me. I cursed.
"Bloody psychotic banker! I just wanted him to bloody stop his depressing blather, is that too much to ask? I curse you, whatever sadistic force put me in this hell!" I seethed loudly. I started kicking up the dust on the floor. I yelled, screamed, and cursed at the air. Sheogorath had done enough to inflame my temper. Believe me, I couldn't help it. It's not that I didn't like him. Oh no, I simply just had enough of his ambiguous speech! But I guess I was a little harsh on him. He had feelings, too. I took after that door and entered the room.
Yet again, Sheogorath was laying prostrate. He was laying on his back, looking at the nondescript ceiling. His expression was straight, yet tears streamed from his eyes. He turned his head towards me for a moment, then returned to his original position. He told me glumly, "She's not coming back." I stared at him stupidly. It was almost pitiful that his voice contained virtually no emotion. "What?" interrogated. I was befuddled. He turned on his side, facing away from me. "Nothing would allow me that," he replied, "no one would let me se her." I gave him a poignant glance. I responded, "That's nonsense, Sheogorath." He chortled. I looked at him askew.
"It is. Fate is a heartless mistress. Our love wasn't right, Walter. Our love for each other was meant to be. I deserve to be punished," he retorted. He started trembling. I knelt beside him compassionately. "It was all wrong, you see. You don't understand. What I did specifically isn't important, but it was unforgivable. I killed her. I should die for that. I…felled her out of rage. I was so foolish. The God of Mercy has no mercy on my animus! I shall never forget that day," he answered. At this point, he was far too cold to be truly unattached to the events that happened to him. I wanted to turn him over.
I wrapped my arms around his sides to flip him over. My fingers pricked something. I sucked on my bleeding fingers. I looked over and saw that he was holding a sharp dagger. "What the hell are you doing with that?" I asked lividly. He finally turned around. His face was a blotchy rose. He was crying, and holding that dagger terribly close to his chest. "The sorrow," he whimpered in a quiet voice, "will never go away, Walter." My name on his lips was so soft. The dagger was glinting so brightly in the light. I felt my eyes grow larger. Dear gods, I thought, he wants to banish himself.
I didn't know what to do. I was stupefied by the dagger. "Give me it," I demanded coolly. He gave me a glare, but eventually simmered down. He handed it over without a struggle. He didn't seem to be happy about it, though. He stood up, wandered over to another door, and opened it. Frustrated, I stomped after him. When I opened the door, I was stunned.
He was in the center of the room. It was well-lit and in disarray. He was hanging in the air. There was a tight rope noose around his neck, and a chair kicked over not too far from his feet. I rushed over there. I propped the chair up, and cut the noose with the dagger. I cursed myself as he fell on his knees, onto the hard floor, and crumpled over. Sheogorath laid there limply. I stepped off the chair and sat beside him. He gazed up at me, and then clutch the chest of my robe. He slid his upper half into my lap. He was weeping.
"I wanted to die, Walter, I wanted to DIE!" he exclaimed in chokes of sobs. It was almost incoherent. I stared at him foolishly. "But…you can't die," I replied confusedly. He said nothing in reply. But he was mad, what could I expect at this time? I was unbeknownst to much. He buried his head into my chest. It barely muffled the sounds of his loud, but not shrill, crying. I felt so numb. I almost had to force myself to wrap my arms around him. I wanted to comfort him.
He lifted his head to look at me. "I'm sor…" he began before I held a finger to his rosy lips. I told him softly, "No need to be sorry." He gave me an odd look. It was an extremely unpleasant glance. He blinked his reddened eyes. The next look he gave me was tired. He staggered upwards. He held his head, like it was hurting him. Sheogorath looked at me strangely again. "You don't understand my anguish. You only suffer a lifetime, which, at the most for you, is one hundred and forty-something years! Guess what? I suffer for a damned eternity!" he spat at me. His countenance was mildly perturbed. I stood up, and opened my mouth to speak, but he interrupted me.
His interrupted was, "Mortals are horrendously oblivious to true sorrow. They pretend everything will be just fine. It's never that way, is it? You know who usually causes such agony? Those who are completely content with their insignificant, pathetic lives." I peered at him with an open mouth, trying to reply but nothing coherent came out. He continued ranting on, "You all think you know every verse and rhyme to melancholy. You mortals are so foolish!" He laughed, then continued on, "But most of you never feel what it is like to be completely alone, yes, alone, in the world. None of you comprehend what it is like for the world to mock you at every damned chance it gets. None of you know what it is like for the world to despise your every being."
My eyes looked at him wide. I was baffled. He narrowed his green eyes at me, and turned towards the door. He went through it, laughing deliriously. Did I offend him? He was right: I didn't understand. There was some ugly, hidden truth behind his words. After all, Sheogorath was pretty much the Daedric prince of equivocating. Feeling like it was my fault, I bolted out the door. I ended up back in the hallway. And the poor Great Daedra was nowhere to be seen.
