Papa's head is on the floor. I can't move, there's blood on the letter opener – no, dagger, maman's dagger – there's blood and I can't breathe and Papa's head is on the floor.

I've never seen him so clearly, crispy in my memory. The wrinkles around his eyes, even young as he must have been. The laugh lines, the jaw and shape of his eyes so similar to mine.

Someone's holding me. I can't look behind, but I know who – Lucien, holding me prone. And maman holds the dagger, approaching me, her face flickering between wraith and wrath. Angry, why is she angry, what did I do?

The dagger falls into my chest, and there's an explosion of pain. I wake up screaming and from somewhere there's laughter, too, a stone face and laugher and the world melting into black and red.

Not my colours.

"Dust?"

At first, I thought it was my father speaking. I roused properly with a gasp at the voice – comforting, gentle, before waking took hold and reality set in. The Sanctuary – I was back at the Sanctuary. I'd had nowhere else to go, when I couldn't be in my home. I found an empty bed and must have collapsed. Memory came in shards – shared warmth and affection, my hands on his back, a bite scar on his arm. The world swam back into view and I dragged my hands through my hair, breathing ragged.

It wasn't my father, of course. Vicente stood nearby, eyes aglow in the darkness. His head tilted and he slowly sat on the edge of the bed at my side, the mattress creaking under his weight. "You were screaming."

"I – I – I had a bad dream." My voice sounded childish in my ears, making me wince. I forced out a sigh, as though that might drag the remnants of the nightmare with it. "I'm sorry, Vicente, I didn't – I shouldn't even be here."

"It's alright. You are welcome here." A gentle smile. "Will you be able to return to sleep?"

No. Not now. When I closed my eyes, I could still see the flash of a dagger coming down, still feel the throb in my chest. I shook my head.

"Come with me, then. We'll have a late night drink." He gave a little smirk over his shoulder, beckoning and coaxing a smile from me. "I admit I am partial to those."

I braced myself for bare feet to meet the cold of the stone floor, only for them to meet warm fur, instead. Luke rose with a wide yawn, maw showing fearsome teeth, then sat up and happily waited for me to get out of the bed. Vicente stroked him between the ears, making his eyes roll up and close in pure canine pleasure. In spite of it all, I had to chuckle.

"You like dogs?"

"I do. It is difficult to find a more loyal companion. Your mother gifted you well." At my wince, his face softened. "Even if it may be difficult to appreciate, under the circumstances."

I would have much preferred a proper drink at that point, but the tea Vicente offered still brought some comfort. I sipped it slow, holding the warmth and earthy sweetness on my tongue. After a moment he joined me, sitting across from me at the small table in his quarters.

Blessed silence between us, for several long minutes. I felt – comfortable with him, more than I could easily explain. I hated Lucien for what he was, but didn't Vicente do the same? He was a murderer, too. He too would kill me, if asked. He too must have celebrated the death of a good, innocent man who had so long been a threat to his kind. I hadn't even seen him in weeks, but sitting with him, sipping his tea felt like spending time with…

With family.

He didn't need to prompt me, didn't need to say a word. I told him. About losing my mother in Oblivion, going to Bravil with Phillada. Screaming at the Night Mother, running into the swamps, the cultists and colours. How the hound came, Lucien came, the attack in Leyawiin and the guilt in the Imperial City. My argument with Lucien, not hours ago, as I realized the truth. I left out only Sheogorath's voice in my head, wanting to deny it as some swamp fever dream. It all came out in a jumble, leaving me blinking back tears by the end of it.

During it all, he never spoke a word.

Only when I fell into silence, taking shuddering breaths to hold back tears, did he speak. The hound had nestled his head onto my lap in the meantime, seeming to sense my need for comfort.

"You have been through much, in a very short time." He paused, seeming to weigh his words. "And you did not choose any of this, it is true. Most of us come to the Night Mother's embrace willingly, eager to find a home here."

"Exactly." Bitterness crept into my voice. "It isn't fair."

"Most," he added, stopping me. His eyes gleamed. "But not all."

I frowned, my hand coming to a rest on the curve of Luke's brow. "I don't understand."

His eyes closed, fingers slowly linking together, chair creaking as he leaned back. Silence – I'd never met a man more comfortable with silence, with taking his time to speak, and speak wisely. At last he continued.

"I have been a vampire for nearly three hundred years. But I was not always one, nor was I a member of the Dark Brotherhood. Indeed, I spent nearly a hundred years wandering, near feral, until the Brotherhood found me."

I sipped my tea as I listened. His eyes seemed to fade, gazing not at the stone wall behind me, but somewhere far away.

"I was turned on an expedition, deep into the ashlands of Vvardenfell. Before that, I was a scholar. Like yourself," he added, a hint of a smirk creeping onto his lips. "I had a future, loved ones. Unlike many who join the Brotherhood, I had no interest in murder. I had no need of a family. I already had one. I had wed that past summer, and my wife was carrying our child."

I swallowed hard, the subtle sweetness of the tea turning bitter. "And then…?"

"I couldn't turn down the expedition. I had known it would be dangerous, but it was simply too fascinating not to pursue. And the coin I would receive in exchange would have cemented a future for my family, a comfortable life. It went wrong, quickly. We were attacked, and I was the only survivor."

I could almost picture it, what it must have been like. Lost in the howling winds and dry, ashen wastes, bleeding out in a world of whirling red and grey.

"I dragged myself to a cave, and slept. When I awoke from days and nights of nightmares, I had – become this." He raised his hands, parted his lips to reveal pointed teeth. "The hunger had nearly driven me mad. I fell upon what remained of my comrade's bodies and devoured them. Only when I was sated did my senses come to me, did I regret. I knew, then, that I could never return to my wife and child. I was no longer a part of their world.

I learned to hunt. I had to, in order to survive. The ashlands are barren and cruel, its inhabitants equally so. I had to learn how to creep into their camps as they slept, to sip blood and leave before dawn without waking a single soul. How to kill a lone traveller without leaving tracks, lest my lair be found. I did not wish to develop these skills. I wanted – all I wanted – was to return to the world I knew. But that was no longer a possibility, for me."

My tears dried the hound had pulled himself from my lap, now curled at my feet and contentedly snoring away. Vicente gave him a fond glance, then continued as I held my tea. It had long since gone cold.

"After some hundred years of living in caves, hunting and surviving in the shadows, the Dark Brotherhood found me. At first, their offer disturbed me. What part of my mind had remained intact through the centuries abhorred this life, these murders. I killed only to survive, not for pleasure, nor profit. Yet I saw nowhere else I could turn, and I longed for the company of mortals once more. I accepted, and found myself a part of their Family."

"Not all." I echoed his earlier words in a murmur. "You didn't choose, not really. You had no other choice."

"Indeed. The young man I was, of noble blood and gentle nature, would have been aghast to see me as I am now. Yet, I am contented. Throughout the centuries, I have come to know and love the Dread Father and our Dark Matron. I have come to love my many siblings, and to mourn their losses when they pass on. This was not the fate I would have chosen for myself, yet I would choose no other path now. I have come to be happy, here."

My gaze turned to my lap, to hide tears. "You made the best of it."

"Yes. Your mother wanted the same, for you. As does Lucien, and as do I." He folded his hands, gazing intently at me. "This is not what you have chosen, but I ask that you have patience. You may find peace with us, in time."

My voice broke. "What if I can't?"

"There is little other choice. It is human nature – we survive, we adapt, or we die. You are strong, Dust." His voice softened. "Not like your mother, but in a different nature. Perhaps you might find joy, in knowing our mother's love as we do. In devoting yourself to something larger than you can comprehend, in having a family that loves you."

I squeezed my eyes shut. Tears rolled down my cheeks, even as I tried to force them away. "I don't – " It was childish, but I could think of no other way to put it. "I don't like killing."

"No. You are a creature of life, as Abelle once called you." A soft, fond smile curved his lips. "But even that is a skill we need. Your work in alchemy is remarkable, your dedication to healing admirable. Though I admit it is rare, I believe it may be possible to please our Dread Lord without blood on your own hands. Serve your family faithfully, and they will smile upon you."

Make the best of it.

Out of habit I went to take a sip of the tea, only making a face as I found it cold and choked it down. Vicente chuckled and rose, taking the mug from my hand and placing it beside his.

"Now, I am certain you are tired. You are welcome to stay here for the rest of the night, or to return to your own home."

"I'll go back." Lucien would have left by now, or at least I hoped. I longed for the comfort of my own bed. For once the thought of being alone didn't fill me with dread, but wanting.

"Certainly. But…" Vicente paused as I stood, mulling over his words. "… Antoinetta is on assignment at the moment, but should return in a few days' time. Ask her about where she came from. I believe you may find her answer interesting."

"I'll do that." I nodded, automatically moving to stroke Luke's head as he rose with a yawn. "I… thank you, Vicente. Thank you, for listening."

"It is no trouble, I assure you." The corner of his mouth crinkled with a smile, then paused. Something softened in his eyes as he looked me over. "… You are not your mother. You never will be, and perhaps you may never follow in her footsteps." His voice lowered. "But she loved you, and I know she would be proud of you."

Tears fell, sudden and hot, and then I was clinging to him tight. His arms moved away for a moment as he stiffened in surprise before slowly returning to circle around me. He held me for a long moment before I parted, giving him a watery smile and returning to my mercifully empty home.

I had much to think on. But before I could wade through it all my head hit the cool pillow, and I was gone.