She pressed the button at the bottom of the stairs repetitively. Panic began to set in when she realised that she wasn't being answered. She took a step away from the entrance, and looked up to his floor, only to see the curtains closed to his room. She knew how much he loved to let the light in when it was morning, since the darkness frightened him, due to the fact that it reminded him of solitude. Why wasn't he answering the buzzing of the button? He could definitely hear her from the Night Mother's room, and he couldn't possibly be angry enough with her to refuse her entry anymore. Something was wrong.
Again, panic continued to overwhelm her. Frustrated, she slammed her fingertip onto the button, buzzing his room over and over again. She pressed her face against the window of the door, looking into the apartment. She then began to pound on the door, hoping someone would hear her.
The person who stood behind the desk saw her frustration and heard her incessant pounding. She moved away from the desk and towards the door. She pushed it open slightly and poked her head out.
"Can I help you?" the receptionist said.
"Yes, I'm a psychologist, a client of mine lives here, and he just called me in a fit of panic," Clarice lied. "I need to go see him immediately, but he isn't answering."
"Should I call someone?" the receptionist asked, worried.
"No!" Clarice exclaimed. "Please don't. I need to handle this myself."
With that, the receptionist held the door open for her, and allowed her to enter into the apartment building. She ran to the elevator, and jammed her finger onto the button again, calling the elevator in panic. Eventually, it came, and she rushed past the people who were exiting the elevator. She vigorously pressed the buttons which took her to where she needed to go. She tapped her foot quickly, apprehension filling her as the suspense of the slow-moving elevator seemed to taunt her.
Eventually, the elevator came to an abrupt stop, and before the doors were fully opened, she dove out of the elevator, and bolted to the end of the hallway, where Cicero's door had been. The black and yellow lanterns regarded her with sceptical eyes, and the doors like laughing mouths, mocked her as she ran, as though assuring her that she was powerless, and there were only bad things waiting for her when she reached the door.
Soon, she did reach the door in question and came to an abrupt stop, confused, considering that the door had been slightly ajar. She peered into the room, finding an overwhelming amount of darkness impairing her vision for seeing within the apartment. Carefully, cautiously, she placed her hand against the door, and pushed it open slowly. The room smelt of death and blood and burnt-out candles. Her heart was racing as she examined the inside of the room. She couldn't see anything, but she could hear a shaking breath coming from inside the Night Mother's chamber.
Slowly, she took gradual steps into the apartment, keeping her eyes on everything, making sure to examine everything around her. She could not see anything particularly out of order, but the feelings coming from the room made her feel incredibly uncomfortable and unsure of the situation. She followed the sound of the shaking breath into the bedroom which had been converted into a sanctuary for the Night Mother. This door was also ajar, but mostly closed. Like she had with the door to the apartment, she slowly pushed it open and examined inside.
All of the candles around the Night Mother's body were blown out, and there was wax everywhere. The ceremonial oils used for keeping the Mother moisturised were strewn across the floor, most of them empty and coating the walls and floor in several places. She slowly reached over to the light switch on the wall and flicked it. A small lamp in the corner flicked on, revealing a horrifying sight.
Mixed with the oil covering the walls and spilt upon the floor, were sprays and small pools of blood. The Night Mother's coffin was closed and locked, but was still tainted by small amounts of blood and oil and spilled wax. Lying in front of the pedestal on which the Night Mother's coffin sat, was a very frail, fragile, and bloody Cicero. Clarice gasped and ran to him, kneeling down in front of him. He was not coherent, and had a massive wound in his side, which had been gushing blood. Clarice's hands shook violently as she tried to examine him, getting covered in his blood herself.
"Clarice," he said, his voice quiet and shaking. "Ci-Cicero was hoping you would c-come back…"
"Don't talk, Cicero," Clarice insisted, tears welling in her eyes with the panic. "I'm so sorry I left. I should have just stayed with you."
Cicero smiled sadly, flinching from the pain. Clarice looked around the room and managed to find some bandages, probably having to do with the oiling process for the mother. They seemed like a mixture of gauze and burlap. She grabbed them and carefully positioned Cicero so she could wrap the bandages around him tightly in an attempt to stop the bleeding.
"You need to press firmly on the bandage," she told him.
"Cauterise it," Cicero said, quietly. Clarice's eyes widened and she looked to him.
"You really are insane," Clarice remarked. "There's no fire hot enough."
"Yes there is," a screeching-like voice came from behind them.
Clarice spun around, only to find the Hagraven standing there, arms crossed over her chest, grinning. She was also covered in blood, though Clarice assumed it was mostly Cicero's. She extended a single hand towards Clarice, and her palm slowly filled with fire, though it seemed not to burn her. The fire licked and curled around her fingers, as though teasing her, tempting her, but not burning her.
"This is how it is going to work," the Hagraven said, glancing down into the flames. "I'll save your beloved little jester. I have more than fire to cauterise the wound."
With that, she reached into a satchel tied around her waist, and pulled a large vial from the bag. It had a long mouth and a wide base with what looked like strips of leather wrapped around the glass. It was corked tightly, but still the scent of something sweet and incredibly enticing wafted from the bottle. It seemed to be filled with a bright, red liquid that seemed unnatural to anything Clarice had ever been introduced to. The Hagraven swirled the contents around the bottle, grinning.
"This is a potion of Extreme Healing," the Hagraven told her. "It would heal Cicero almost fully immediately. But I'm not willing to just hand this over."
Clarice narrowed her eyes at the Hagraven, pulling Cicero's delicate body close to her to hold him gently in her lap. He grasped her shirt and clung tightly to her, heaving himself upwards so he could cough. A large wad of blood and phlegm shot out of his mouth and fell onto the floor. Clarice felt her bottom lip quiver slightly. She knew perfectly well that if she didn't agree to whatever it was the Hagraven was demanding, her beloved madman would most definitely die. She couldn't bring him to the hospital, because then the police officers would have direct access into Cicero's house, and would be able to search it without interference – imagine how they would react when finding an oiled corpse in an iron maiden sitting on a pedestal. He would be arrested for sure. To him, that would be worse than death.
"What do you want," Clarice said, holding him close to her, not caring about the blood drenching her clothes.
"Well, it's simple, really," she told him. "I just want the Night Mother."
"You can't have her!" Cicero said, sitting up slightly. "Cicero won't let you!" He then whimpered, coughed again, and slowly lied back down. Clarice told him to hush, before holding him tightly again.
"You see, if the Night Mother ordered my death, then why should I allow her to live in my world, where so many people are dying because it's what she has ordered?" she insisted.
"You don't understand!" Cicero shouted. "The Night Mother listens to her children's plea, and tells us to do what they ask. It is not her who commands the deaths!"
"Then without the middle man, how can the Brotherhood performs the acts?" the Hagraven grinned.
"Things continued running even without the Mother," Cicero told the Hagraven. "During the time of solitude, when the Brotherhood waited for the Night Mother, they strayed from the Tenants and performed kills purely for money, instead of for what had been told to us from the Mother. Things would continue just as they had, Hagraven. With or without the Mother."
"The Staff, Listener," Clarice heard the Mother's voice. "Get her to grab the staff."
Clarice turned her head slowly to the corner of the room where the enchanted stick stood against the wall, waiting to be touched again. She knew perfectly well what the Night Mother was suggesting. If she was to get the staff into the hands of the Magicka-enriched Hagraven, and perhaps got her to cast it, then it would be in the hands of the Dread Lord.
She heard Cicero choke on his own blood.
"Okay, okay," Clarice said. "Let's just figure this out. How about, you give me that potion, and I'll give you the Night Mother, and that staff in the corner of the room."
"Ooo, subtle," she heard the Night Mother remark.
The Hagraven's beady, black eyes shifted to the corner of the room, where the stick stood, waiting. She narrowed her black eyes and tilted her head slightly, examining it.
"What does it do?" the Hagraven asked.
"Tell her it summons a Daedra," the Night Mother told her. "Like the Sanguine Rose, but given to Cicero by Sithis himself."
"It summons a Daedra," Clarice explained. "Like the Sanguine Rose. It was given to Cicero by Sithis himself as a gift for being such a dedicated Keeper to the Mother for so long. It was with him when he was teleported here, but he doesn't have enough Magicka to use it. I'm sure an advanced magical being such as yourself can easily wield the artefact enough to use its advanced magic."
"Flattery," the Night Mother grinned. "I knew I liked you for a reason."
"The Sanguine Rose," the Hagraven said, before sneering at the staff. "I always wanted that staff. The only Daedric Artefacts on that stupid Dragonborn were Boethiah's Ebony Mail and that silly Skeleton Key. I'm not much of a lock-picker myself – I prefer to break and enter." She kept her gaze tightly fastened to the staff. "But that Sanguine Rose… What power. Tear an incredibly potent being from the depths of Oblivion… To control such a being for one's own purposes… How could I refuse such magic?"
The Hagraven prepared herself to lunge forward towards the artifact. Clarice immediately thrust her hands upwards to stop the motion, forcing the Hagraven to pause and turn her beady, glaring eyes down to Clarice, as though she was some insignificant thing sitting in the way of her goal. Clarice knew very well how easily she could be squashed by the much more powerful entity standing before her, towering over her.
"Wait," she insisted. "Please, just give me the potion first."
The Hagraven scowled at the petty request. She glanced back up to the staff for a brief moment, before sighing and glancing to the bottle of red liquid she held in her hand, by the neck. From the much closer distance, Clarice could smell the incredibly enticing aroma escaping from beneath the cork sealing it tightly. She had to contain herself from reaching for it and taking it from the Hagraven's hands, for she knew that if she made such an attempt, she would probably be lit into flames like a dry bale of hay before she could open her mouth to protest.
"How about this," the Hagraven bartered. "You give me the staff, then I'll give you the potion, then you give me the Night Mother."
This couldn't have possibly been going better.
"Fine," Clarice said quickly. "Take the staff. Use it, if you want. Just please, once it is in your hands, give me the potion."
"No!" Cicero shouted in objection, before coughing violently. "I will not let you have the Night Mother!"
Clarice looked down to Cicero with an expression that spoke volumes about keeping his mouth shut, and to trust her because she had a plan. It took him a while to read the expression properly, but once he understood it, he sealed his mouth immediately, and pretended to pass out in her arms. She had to keep herself from grinning with pleasure at his sudden acceptance of their unspoken plan, and his own contribution to furthering it. It was all going too well, it seemed.
"Please hurry," Clarice begged. "We don't have much time. I can feel him slipping away."
"Yes, his life force is dwindling," the Hagraven frowned at the limp body of the madman. "Very well."
She then stepped over the bodies on the floor, and went to the corner of the room. She slowly wrapped her claws around the stem of the staff, and sighed heavily, feeling its power. There wasn't much life left in it. There had only been one shot with it as long as Clarice wielded it, considering her distinct lack of Magicka. But with the Hagraven's excess of the magical energy, combined with the enchantment in the staff itself, it would be easy to summon Sithis, one last time. The Hagraven lifted the staff off of the ground and held it in her hands for a long moment, relishing in its power and abilities. She then turned the staff forward to face an open area within the room.
"To summon a Daedra in this fragile, disgusting world, so young in its cultures, so advanced in its faculties, yet so broken and dying," the Hagraven said, mostly to herself. Clarice began to worry, once she truly did feel Cicero's heart slowing, losing the want to survive. "It's amazing what I could do with this staff in this world."
With that, she inhaled deeply, preparing the spell she would eventually cast. Clarice watched in excitement and anticipation as the purple light began to form and swell at the end of the staff. The Hagraven's bird-like face began to light with exhilaration at the black and purple orb expanding gradually. It was taking even the Hagraven much effort to power it, but she was relentless in her task, and dared not falter, especially before the mortals who so desperately relied on its working. Cicero opened one eye carefully to watch the portal swelling on the staff, and even he grew excited to see what was coming. Clarice stroked his hair gently to calm him.
After what felt like eons, the Hagraven allowed the portal to eject off of the staff. It swam across the room for a brief moment, before landing onto the ground, where it continued to swell and expand, until it was large enough to fit a human – or even a God. On the other side of the portal, the void released the Dread Lord himself, and he began to pour from within the pit of the portal and materialise in the form that each living entity in the room could comprehend. The Hagraven watched in awe and excitement, but once she realised that it wasn't the Daedra she had anticipated, the beam left her face, and was replaced with terror.
"Oh Gods…" the Hagraven said under her breath.
The Dread Lord laughed in amusement with the situation, glancing around the room he recognised well. Cicero's heart was racing with delight with the situation, and he wanted to lunge upwards and praise the Lord he was raised to embrace, but his current condition would not permit such an endeavour, and he was left to cower in the arms of the psychologist. He clung tightly to her, but watched the circumstance unfold with great joy.
"Well, well, well," Sithis mused. "What do we have here? A rogue Hagraven, alone in this strange world on the quest for revenge. You're a little out of place here, aren't you, Hagraven?"
"Keep away from me," the Hagraven said, dropping the staff and filling her hand with fire. She thrust her hand forward in the direction of the psychologist and the madman. "You'll regret it!"
Sithis laughed, his skeletal form shuddering with the laughter. "I regret nothing, Hagraven. I'm the Dread Lord. Keeper of souls, and creator of Gods. There is nothing in this world I did not intend, and nothing I cannot fix. What you have done here has merely been an… inconvenience. Easily mended."
"I was only trying to protect those who don't have a say in their own deaths!" the Hagraven insisted, palms filled with fire. Clarice could feel the heat radiating off of her hands close to her face. She felt Cicero stir in her lap. "If you won't protect these puny mortals, then maybe you'll protect the Mother!" With that, she extended an arm to the Night Mother, still keeping one on the cowering lovers.
"No!" Cicero shouted, trying to sit up and defend his Mother. Clarice held him down.
"She wouldn't," she whispered into Cicero's ear.
The Hagraven turned her head towards Clarice. She could see the fear in the creature's eyes, and knew that her actions were based solely on the fear of losing everything she had worked hard to achieve. Clarice knew that if she was to return to Skyrim, she would be killed by the Brotherhood without a moment's contemplation. But, now, she was backed into a corner. They had rationalised her way out of any logic or reason to eliminate the Mother, and she now had a God staring her down. The Void was in her sight, and she knew that. She had nowhere to run; she could only fight.
"Fine," the Hagraven said, snarling. "I won't set you both on fire. I'll just do something worse."
With that, she reached back into the satchel, where the Potion of Extreme Healing was waiting for consumption, lifted her arm high, and threw the bottle downwards, causing it to leap out of her hand, and crash onto the floor, smashing into millions of tiny pieces. The enticing aroma lifted from the red, spilled contents of the bottle, rising to the ceiling and disappearing. The shimmering, life-saving liquid coated the floor in red, like blood pouring from the bottle, only to seep into the floorboards, and disappear from sight, leaving Clarice hopeless, with a dying madman in her arms.
"No!" Clarice screamed, trying her hardest to gather some of the liquid. It was too late, though. Too much of the contents had been lost. Slurping the liquid up with a straw would even be unsuccessful. She watched helplessly as the only thing that could save her little jester dissolved into obscurity. Her hand shook and bled slightly from the shards of glass she at which she desperately grasped. Sithis watched her, frowning from at her feeble attempts at saving another mortal's life. She felt her eyes fill with tears as she clawed at the wetness, knowing that it wouldn't do any good in its current state, but not having anything else to do rendered her useless.
Everything washed away.
Cicero watched as the liquid faded into obscurity. He felt helpless as he lay there, unable to move, in immense pain. Clarice held him so tightly. He could feel her body shake as she tried her hardest to stay strong for him. What did he do to deserve her?
Clarice stared up at the Hagraven, her eyes filled with rage, until the glint of something else in the creature's satchel caught her eye. Reaching for the thing was a long shot, and the chance of her actually being able to do something with it was even less probable. But, at that point, she had nothing to lose, and perhaps a life to gain. Her intuition took over for her, and she lunged forward, careful not to knock Cicero about, but enough to be able to wrap her fingers around the hilt of the ebony dagger as it hung from the satchel.
The Hagraven screeched with the suddenness of the movement, and attempted to back away, but it was fruitless. The human girl already had a firm grasp on the weapon, and it was hers to wield. Again, the bird-woman's hands filled with fire. There was no way any of them could escape the flames with naught but a sharp blade. Clarice slowly lifted herself into a standing position, keeping the end of the blade pointed at the Hagraven, while also carefully lying Cicero down onto the ground.
"Listen to me," Clarice said, her voice shaking almost as much as the hand in which the dagger was tightly grasped. "I don't want to fight you. I am fully aware that there is no way I could win against you. Rather, I would like to strike a bargain. You and I are both backed into a corner, here. If we move fast, maybe we could fix what seems broken beyond repair."
The Hagraven paused for a moment, eyes narrow. "I'm listening."
Clarice nodded and swallowed hard, allowing the dagger to sit loosely in her palm, as if to say that she knew she was vulnerable. "You know perfectly well that despite your efforts, the Dark Brotherhood will continue. If you ever happen to try to go home, you will be a huge target, and the fate you may be forced to suffer could be worse than anything you can imagine. What I'm offering to you, is immunity. If you recreate the portal back to Skyrim, allowing Cicero and the Night Mother to pass through and survive, then the Night Mother will tell the Listener and the Listener will tell the Brotherhood that you are immune to any attacks from them, and will survive under their radar, free from death brought on by the Brotherhood."
The Hagraven watched her, analysing the bargain in her mind. She knew that this mortal human was desperate to save the man she seemed to care for so dearly. She was perfectly aware that returning home to Tamriel was a huge risk she couldn't afford to take as long as the Mother and her Keeper were in this world. The gag had gone on long enough. It was now time to return home and resume business as usual. Perhaps this offer was the only way she could do it, without certain death waiting at her doorstep for when she comes home. She allowed the flames to dissipate within her palms. As a response to this, Clarice dropped the blade.
"Fine," the Hagraven said, before glancing backwards at the Night Mother. "Tell her that I am immune to any Dark Brotherhood attacks. Make sure that she gets the word across to her children."
"Yes, yes, I understand," the Night Mother sighed.
Then it was settled.
Suddenly, from the ground behind Clarice, there came a choking gurgle. Clarice spun around to find Cicero curled into the fetal position, holding his wound tightly. He had no fight left in him. He was allowing himself to slip away. How could he do that to himself? He so fondly loved his ability to fight all that stood in his way, but now he was just going to let himself go? When he was on the cusp of returning home?
"Hurry up!" Clarice said, falling to her knees beside the shaking body.
"I can't move that fast!" the Hagraven insisted, swelling balls of purple light forming in her hands. "It takes manipulation and control and extreme concentration!"
"How long is it going to take?" Clarice asked, exasperated.
"I don't know, a few minutes?" the Hagraven said, working at the orbs in her claw-like palms.
Clarice felt tears pour down her face as the anxiety of the situation overwhelmed her. "We don't have a few minutes," she said, her voice shaking. She turned to look at the skeletal figure in the corner of the room. "Sithis?" she begged, her voice feeble.
"There isn't anything I can do," Sithis said, watching them. "A portal like this is unlike anything I am able to create for living things."
Clarice's bottom lip shook violently as she gathered the small, feeble man in her arms. She held him tightly, drops of salty cyanide falling from the end of her nose onto the blood-soaked Cicero. Her whole body shook violently as she held him, looking down at him. She ran her fingers through his sweat-drenched hair, looking deeply into his eyes. Even know, she could see the light in them – the laughter. But it was so dim. So faint. Like the glint of a dying star.
"Don't go," she begged him. "Please. Cicero. Hold on."
Slowly, his dry, cracked, bloody lips stretched into a smile. It was weak and it was miserable, but it was there. His eyes slowly closed, the smile remaining on his face. "Cicero… Isn't done… Not yet…"
With that, the fragile life within him faded away, like the last bit of warmth and laughter in the whole world, drifting into obscurity, leaving behind the empty shell of a jester.