Desirhae remembers the night she was changed.

She was so, so afraid. Poor girl didn't know what was happening. First thing in the morning she noticed a touch of blood on her pillow, and her immediate reaction was to touch her fingers to her neck and feel for puncture marks.

There they were, tiny and raised, and the proof that Vincente hadn't taken her request as a joke. She was more curious than anything, really, she just wanted to know what it was like... he wouldn't let the dear creature experience it vicariously though. He'd give her a taste of life as a vampire.

She'd wormed her way into the Dark Brotherhood with a quick motion of the wrist, the glint of light against the blade, and by the time she'd stopped shaking and cleaned the blood from her hands, a man swathed in dark robes had found her. Lucien Lachance, she remembers, and he had an offer for her that she couldn't refuse.

Take the life of a man at some inn, she can't remember who at this point, and they'd let her become a child of the night. She doesn't understand what the allure of it was but she had no qualms about taking another life; after slitting the throat of a guard who'd pursued her after a theft, what did one more matter? Years after the deaths of her parents, and after four years of living in shadows and constant flight, she was offered a home.

A place to sleep at night without having to wake and make sure she wasn't in some prison. A place where she would be among her brothers and sisters. A sanctuary. What could she do but kill the worthless bastard and run, run home to her new family in Cheydinhal?

They opened their home to her, showed her such love that she felt as though she could stay there in that place underground forever. She was given a bed and armor, and the privilege of being the hand of the Night Mother. In return, she carried out Sithis's tasks without question and, at times, with alacrity and great pride. She developed a bond with her fellow assassins and grew past her apathy towards killing- she learned to enjoy the moment of control and the feeling of intimacy that came with the kill. She would always lock eyes with her victim if possible, absorbing the panic and fear and reveling in their final release as they went limp.

Desirhae showed such lucidity after a kill that Ocheeva was certain that she'd been drinking or some such after she fulfilled a contract. Nobody feared her for it, and with good reason, as she could never harm another member of the Brotherhood. They were her kin. Hell, they were all her loves, and she would never leave this place, with its earthy scent and cold dirt floor.

A year passed after she was first taken in. And then... there was some sort of shift. A night in the Imperial City can do strange things to a woman.

She'd been sent to carry out a kill. When she arrived at the home of her new target, blade in hand and an anticipatory smile playing at her lips, she felt something strange in the air. It was the dead of night; an hour or two after midnight, at most. No sane victim should be awake at that hour, but he was. Oh, he was...

With a small bit of metal, she tapped the tumblers of the door's lock into place; she was quick with a lockpick, always had been. Quietly, she pushed the door open and was greeted by a rough grip on her arms. Thrown against the wall and pinned there with a knife to her neck, she managed not to panic, but something much more dangerous took root.

The first pangs of infatuation settled in, and they've been there fluttering about in her gut since.

The man wasn't kind or gentle to his assailant; who would be, and who cares if she's a lady? But he wasn't brutal. After all, there's not much need when one has a razor-sharp shortsword in hand, pressed close to a vital point. The man stared his would-be killer in the face. She simply smiled calmly back.

"You're not going to kill me, are you?" Desirhae asked, without a hint of fear in her voice. Fear was something she'd abandoned long before this point. The man's stare remained unwavering. He did not answer. She was clearly unstable.

"You won't do it. I thought not, Lucret." The shock of this girl having known his name shocked him a bit, but not enough for him to release her. She tried to wrench her arms free but failed, so she settled for the next best thing, pressing her foot hard against his chest and shoving him away with all the strength she could muster in her leg. Brilliant move, with him still gripping her wrists tightly in only one hand (oh, those hands), which sent him tumbling backwards and she fell on top of him, landing hard on his chest. She struggled to break an arm away and take him out before he called for the guards; she failed.

The man threw aside his shortsword and with only the one arm, threw her backwards onto the floor, looming over her as she stared up, unperturbed.

"Who are you?" He asked, not a hint of anger or even irritation in his voice. He was curious. He didn't care that she'd just attempted to take his life, without even a moment's hesitation. She pulled, he held fast.

"I am the end," she said in the same steady tone. Looking back now, she wonders what ever possessed her to say such stupid things before a kill. It was all just storybook dramatic effect...

"The end is beautiful," the man said, and this statement quite literally disarmed her. The dagger dropped from her hand and hit the wood floor with an irritating sound. Annoyance set in- he was toying with her, that's it. He was taking his time and teasing her until he decided to throw her to the guards. She felt a surge of anger that she could no longer suppress and drew her head back to spit up into his face. He blinked a few times.

Then he released her.

She stayed there on the ground as he stood, certain that this was some sort of ploy. She would stand and he'd run her through with his blade. As she glared from below him, he extended his hand to her. And in a moment of stupidity, as she cursed herself for, moments later, she took it.

He pulled her up.

And threw her back against the wall. Oh, she'd known this would happen. But without a thought he gently wrapped a bit of her hair around his hand and tilted her head sideways before lowering his mouth to her neck. Her eyes widened; not out of fear, but sheer surprise. What were the odds?

Seconds passed after he broke the skin and tasted her blood. Pulling away and still holding her hair, Lucret said matter-of-factly, "You're lacking in something." Letting his hands settle at his sides and allowing her her freedom once more, he added, "You're a vampire, dear, it's quite plain to see... and to taste."

"I am a child of the night," she spat.

"So you're with the Brotherhood, then?" he asked, as though he hadn't already known the answer. She stared back at him, unresponsive. Oh, how very easy it would be to simply finish her job here if she hadn't seen his face. Her first impulse was to take his head in her hands and stare into his eyes. But she held back. Something in her told her to take his life and obey the Night Mother.

Something with a much more powerful voice said not to, for they were kin.

!! !! !! !! !!

Two years later, in Skingrad, Desirhae and Lucret pad through the streets and prepare for their night. He's never been the most subtle creature, not at all quiet enough to complete a job on his own, and Desirhae needs to get him some lighter boots. They're a team, yes, but not a very functional one when it comes to work. She's experienced in the ways of theft and assassination. He is not. She hasn't quite enough skill for the both of them, but this doesn't keep them from working side-by-side.

She pats the pouch on her leg to be sure that she has a few lockpicks on her. Of course she's got everything she needs, including her companion. She decides to take on an empty house tonight so there's little risk of getting caught, with Lucret tagging along.

Tonight... will be fun.