It was storming, when I left the Inn. Not the gentle, rejuvenating rain that had met Kvatch in the days before I left, but loud and crashing and torrential. The way opened for me as naturally as though I were the Listener myself, the statue twisting, the hidden passage sliding open with a weary groan of stone on stone. I didn't need light or a torch, even as night fell on Bravil – my feet knew the way, whether I wanted them to or not.

My heart clenched on itself, twisting and throbbing. I wanted to turn back. I wanted to scream.

I wanted my mother.

She waited for me there, hovering and silver-sheened, small yet utterly dominating the tomb. A graceful smile curved her ghostly features, voice echoing now on rock as it had in my head.

"Grand-daughter. It is time we spoke together alone, you and I."

"I am not your grand-daughter. I will never be your family." I spoke aloud, stunning myself at the rawness of my voice, the venom behind it. Spitting anger towards this unknowable, ancient woman, who could have ended the pound of my heart with a thought. Still, I hissed again.

"You took her from me."

"Oh, child. It was Oblivion that took her, not I. Even I could not have foreseen the arrival of Dagon upon this realm, the destruction it would bring."

I shook my head. I felt weighted, all of my being – blood, flesh, soul – being pulled towards the ground. "No." I whispered now, hoarse, like I was still choking on the ashes of Oblivion. "You took her a long, long time ago, didn't you?"

A soft laugh in her throat. Her eyes lidded, silence seeming to agree with me before she spoke again. "You are far from the only one who has lost a mother, are you not?" She moved closer, taking my hand in hers, running a finger along the burned imprint of the soul gem, there. I shuddered at her touch – cool, not cold like death, but cool and dry like a hand on a fevered brow. "The sacrifice a mother might make, for the survival of her child…"

I bit my tongue until I tasted copper, wanting to pull away, unable to move. My throat was tight and dry as the tomb itself, jaw trembling, eyes pricking from the birth of tears. Above us, rain pounded on stone, a constant thrum. I couldn't think. "I don't understand."

"How could you? My gift to you was burned to ash in Oblivion, and thus the lesson. In time, Bellamont would have shown you what it had brought him." She chuckled once more, giving my hand a squeeze. The burn throbbed. "Heartbreak, madness, death. Better he had died in his mother's place, all those years ago. A mother does all she can for her children, but sacrifices must be made. As I made my sacrifices, long before any of my children that live now drew breath."

I don't understand. I don't understand. Nothing made sense, nothing in these past days of cold and heat and ash and gravedust, nothing made sense about my mother not being here beside me, that these hands holding mine weren't hers. A sob escaped me, wrenched out from my throat.

"Would you like to see her?"

My head snapped up. See her - ? But she was – no, no, I couldn't think of that word, not with her. If I could see her, she still lived. Some part of her remained, some part…

"Yes. Yes." I inhaled, sharp as a dagger. "Please."

There was a flicker of movement, at the Night Mother's side – a figure forming, kneeling, slowly standing. Garbed in black – no, not black, in shadow, fathomlessly deep. She stood and met my eyes, her own dark, but warm.

"Dust."

"Maman."

I spoke without realizing, stepping forward, falling into her. Grasping at nothing, but able to see her. I slipped to my knees in the attempt, then hugged myself tight. A whisper and they both faced me, gazing down.

She was here. She was here, but I couldn't touch her, but she was here.

"Your untimely death at the hand of Dagon's forces is unfortunate, my daughter." The Night Mother moved a ghostly hand to my mother's cheek. "There was so much more I had wished to show you, to teach you. So many dark secrets I had hoped to whisper into your ear."

Mother stood straighter, shoulders low, head high in pride. "I am honoured to have been your servant in life, Unholy Matron."

"I know, my dear. And you will serve on, even now."

I dared to look up.

I wish I hadn't.

It was my mother's face, yes – pale and elegant, eyes dark, near expressionless. But there was something under it, as though she as just wearing a mask. Flickering through – catches of dark, mangled skin, of vibrant red eyes, of a face with no features but a screaming maw.

"A wraith – imbued with powers I shall give you, sweet daughter, you shall serve. You shall exact the Wrath of Sithis upon those who would dishonor his name, upon those who would offend me."

She looked so proud, so honoured. Did I look the same, when my mother praised me?

"And you shall begin your work…" I felt a cool hand on my head from where I knelt. "Here."

Everything went silent, silent as death. I couldn't breathe. Finally, mother's voice broke the silence. For once, hesitant. For once, afraid.

"… My Matron?"

"I once sacrificed my five children for the glory of Sithis – then, myself. My dagger was still wet with my infant's blood when I buried it in my chest." She raised her head high, looking down on me now. I tried to look away, locked in her gaze, blood frozen. Not even my heart seemed to move. "You have shown loyalty, my daughter. You have given up much on your behalf for the Dark Brotherhood." Her gaze sharpened. "But will you sacrifice her?"

She hesitated – my mother hesitated, mouth open in shock. Her eyes searched mine now, for answers, an excuse.

I had nothing I could give her.

"Slay her. Sacrifice her to me, as I did my own children centuries ago. Show me your loyalty, my daughter."

There was a scythe now, cruel and sharp in my mother's hands. She weighed it in her palms, staring at me, waiting.

I didn't know what else to do. I couldn't run or hide or fight. Couldn't plead – wouldn't have, even if I could. Not now.

I bowed my head low, and waited.