You know how Sheogorath likes dancing.


"When it's all doom n dark outside and only you inside to first make a light n then tend it, you have to be a bitch."
Stephen King, Dolores Claiborne

I found myself spun out of Sheogorath's keen mind. I was still sitting atop him, and he was staring back at me with his vibrantly hued eyes. He opened his mouth. His lips were such a lively pink, yet his face was so deathly pale. "I shall not be burning fire. I am of a different sort. That cannot kill my desire. You're th' one wish to consort," was his delayed response. I cocked my head down at him. I asked him in a mock-confrontational tone, "What are you then?" He simply smiled at me. It was a painfully jaded and cynical grin. I kissed his lips. He did not respond. The color did, however, return to his pallor. "Walter, it'd be better to show. Sometimes words cannot say enough. Words aren't sufficient to know it." he replied. I slid off him and gazed at him with hope.

He stood up and brushed himself off. He stood up straight, sophisticated, and proud. Sheogorath stepped towards me and offered me his surprisingly delicate, slender hands. I stared at them suspiciously. He began to look impatient. "Don't just stare at my hands all day," Sheogorath insisted fervently, "Let us two dance the world away." I took the hands he offered, keeping his capriciousness in mind as I did. I wouldn't dare bite it. His eyes no longer had a blank stare, but reflected concentration in thought. He started leading me through an odd but elegant dance. His green eyes were narrowed, though not out of anger. He looked so pensive. The lines in his brow were creasing, and his gaze on me held a cold hot passion. He spun me around the room slowly with adroit steps.

"Can't you give me hints on your very nature?" I asked him as he swept me across the wooden floor flawlessly. I was intoxicated with his smooth movement, the peacefulness of his deliberation, and the comforting gaze of his marvelous green eyes. He grunted. He turned us on a dime when we were close to the warm, crackling hearth. The room seemed to be swelling as we continued the duet. I noticed it transitioning, albeit slowly, into a grand ballroom. I was now fixated on moving with on him, as well as the changing surroundings. They were all shades of black, gray, and white. Even the candlelight was a shade of gray.

I turned my head towards Sheogorath, and he was dressed in something entirely different. He was in a solid black dress robe, much similar to the one he wore so long ago, with white, frilly lining on the exaggerated sleeves, and the chest that came open to expose a sewn-on array of elegant white fringes. He still had color to him. I stared up into his eyes, following his steps around the room carefully. We passed a large mirror on the northern side, thought this was a round room. I nearly lost my balance. I was no longer in a robe. Instead, I was in a black waistcoat over a white dress shirt and black pants. My head returned towards the direction of Sheogorath.

"Things are never quite what they seem," he told me instructively, "What may be real, may be a dream." Sheogorath's eyes seemed to have a bioluminescence about them. He had such shadowlike qualities, Sheogorath. His guises seemed to be nothing but masks to crawl under. Ne'er quite the one to be direct, Sheogorath, as I said, was a master of equivocating. He was the master of the ambiguous. 'Tis true: Sheogorath's unknowable…if you believe the balderdash in The Book of Daedra. I was very determined on solving his puzzle. I knew there was a wherefore to Sheogorath, but what was it? What made him go mad? He might have been disturbed from the start, merely foaming at the mouth, but as a god, he was howling mad.

"Now, what does this have to do with your personality?" I questioned him. He smirked, and chortled deviously. His smile was so deliciously clever and insane. His eyes lit up even brighter, with such a touched lantern. He spun me once, and he was still grinning. "Why ever wouldst it be simple?" Sheogorath rejoinder in an amused, nearly affectionate attitude. I gave him an askew look. I sighed, and countered his steps. I replied to him with, "I would never be presumptuous enough to declare anything dealing with you as simple, my dear Lord." I simpered at him, to which he smirked wider.

I found his psyche caressing my own, and I gasped. I felt myself nearly let go and fall on my back as I was sucked back in. His grasp on my hands firmed. I was saved from the crash. Pain engorged my shocked body. I endured it as I met up with his cold, cold mind. I gazed through his own eyes as he stopped. He was now sitting down, with my head in his lap. I was pallid, almost lifeless in his arms that embraced my face. Sheogorath caressed my much harder face. My face was the same shade as his. He opened my mouth gently with a single long index finger, leaned over, and kissed me.

The image turned towards him in a exquisite forest green robe. It was the memories again. He was standing in the class room, towering over the hopeful to-be apprentice Zarrexaij as she sat in one of the many chairs. He was bent over slightly, and his hair dangled in his face. It would go down to his chest, I suspected, if he stood up. The last five inches of his hair were curly. He appeared to be quite stern. Zarrexaij was dressed in a simple black robe. Her gorgeous eyes were wide as she listened to him.

"Look here. I'm not pondering taking you as my apprentice because you are female. I want to earn the respect of the council. I want to break grounds with you with skill," he informed her firmly. His green eyes were slit like. Zarrexaij nodded, then interrupted his speech with, "I'm not adept at magic." Sheogorath blinked his eyes. He continued, though flustered, "It does not matter. There is a magical presence about you. I'm led to believe myself that you have a gift, yet you are not harnessing or do not harness it for whatever reason. You do not need to know anything. In fact, I prefer it that way. What talent you have at the start is much better than what you can learn from any book." She gazed up at him innocently. The peer she gave him seemed to be one admiring him. He began to pace back and forth in front of Zarrexaij. He strode with his head first, with his hands behind his back.

"Aren't you holding me up too high on the pedestal?" she asked him curiously. She squirmed in her chair, and then commented, "These seats are uncomfortable." Sheogorath stopped his pacing. He stared at her and lifted an eyebrow. "Mayhap," he replied, "I'm always expected too much out of my apprentices. I wake up each day with optimism, and end up being bitterly disappointed by the end of the damned day. Yet I go on, waiting for that day I'm actually impressed. Maybe you shall impress me. Now there, being pessimistic won't do you any good." He was quite gesticulating as he spoke. His left hand was spread, touching his chest, and his right hand was extended outwards towards her, palm open. There was a smirk splitting his face. His cheeks were flushed a blotchy pink.

Zarrexaij continued looking up at him. Occasionally, she would crane her neck to look around the room. "What will you require me to do as your apprentice?" she interrogated him. She shook her head violently as a strand of burgundy hair fell in her view. Sheogorath was quiet for a moment, but then answered her, "I expect you to do duties for me. They may seem trivial at first but you'll find they will relate to your studies. I'd like for you to take notes over what I instruct or tell you. You mustn't lose your knowledge, so I expect you to practice everything. When it's been long enough, I'll make you a journeyman, err, woman if you can prove to me somehow that you've learned something." His apprentice nodded slowly. She tapped her right index finger on her right cheek. Her lips puckered in her thoughts. I noticed that Sheogorath began tapping one of his boots impatiently. "You have something you want to say?" he tested her suspiciously. His eyes narrowed slightly. Zarrexaij looked up. "Yes, I have something in mind. How did you run those apprentices away?" she questioned him. Her eyes were oozing purity.

The question obviously upset Sheogorath. He turned a shade of red. He took a deep breath, and answered her. He was curt, but not cruel with her. "I 'run' my apprentices out when they frustrate me with their impudence. The last two apprentices were talented, yes, but they were also disobedient. Nothing irritates me more than disrespect." His lips curled a little, and his nose wrinkled with disdain. Both of Zarrexaij's gentle dark eyebrows lifted. I could only imagine what she was thinking at this point. He did seem a little…temperamental. As if in reply to what I was thinking, the Sheogorath in the memories said shamefacedly, "What they say about my temper does have its truths, but for the most part it's exaggerated. I will tell you this, and hopefully it shan't scare you away: my temper, as some have observed, has steadily gotten worse as I have gotten older."

Zarrexaij shifted in her seat again, but this time leaned forward in the chair a bit. Her eyes were focused on Sheogorath, who only looked taller when in front of her sitting form. She sighed, and turned away slightly. Sheogorath's eyebrows furrowed. He shrugged, and brushed his hands off. "Well, I'd prefer to see you every day, if you can manage it. I'm not going to require you to come every day at all, but I do expect you to make it seventy-five percent of the time. I'll be very surprised, and delighted, if you show up tomorrow," he informed her matter-of-factly. His countenance was straight, but not stern. It almost faded to a surreal gentleness. She stood up, and gave him a respectful bow. "I'll be here tomorrow," she said with a smile.

"Oh no, that's not necessary," Sheogorath insisted avidly, "I'd like it, yes, but I'm sure you want to spend time with your family." Zarrexaij's bright expression dulled at the mention. She scowled and replied, "Yes. Spend time with my family. Right." Sheogorath lifted an eyebrow. "God-den then," he muttered in a sad voice. He bowed with exaggerated grace, and sighed. She didn't leave just quite yet. The apprentice bid him, "Goodbye." She left quite quickly. The mage frowned. I wondered if he was thinking She must not like me. His expression was so lugubrious. He ran his long fingers through his long hair.

"She's probably scared to death of me now. Good job," he mumbled to himself in a low, morose voice. He walked to the chair she once sat in and slumped down in it. Sheogorath bent over, his arms holding his knees. He sighed loudly. I heard various muffled voices come from him, but I understood none of it. He then sat up. His face was the usual when he got emotional: red. His eyes were also red. To himself he said, "She won't like me. She doesn't like me. She's too young. You're too old. You're only fooling your damned self." His arms rested limply to his side. His head lolled a bit to the side, his flowing gingery hair covering his face like he was hiding himself from the world.

And the memory faded out of sight.