(inbox.)

[abhorrently]

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[abhorrently]

"I'll take it."

The concept makes her blood run cold. There's enough people she knows fleeing their old chains that when something so earnestly begs, she can't turn a deaf ear.

"What do you need?" What will keep it alive. Anything that's within her power.

[blindwatchersees]

"Take... take my soul. Be my safe harbor. He can't take it if you have it."

[abhorrently]

"...Okay."

Not like she hasn't thrown herself into stranger bargains without thinking very hard. She can shield another soul, if it's needed. There's more than enough room.

But if there's no magical way to do this, if the bargain itself doesn't start something, she's going to have to eat it, because she's out of ideas on how to get said soul into herself.

[blindwatchersees]

The butterfly holds still in her hands, seeming to wait for exactly that.

[abhorrently]

She can't see another way.

Fever takes a tiny breath to brace herself, and puts the butterfly in her mouth. Like this, it can't be found. It can't be put in chains. Such thoughts will help her do what must be done, until she can swallow it. Safe.

[blindwatchersees]

It slips down her throat like crushed ice, cold and rough, and then the feeling is gone, save for a nigh-imperceptible "thank you."

Then, the world gives way beneath Fever's feet, and she's sent tumbling through the cosmos, falling down a rabbit hole.

[abhorrently]

"Shit."

That's the most eloquent answer she has before she's falling, desperately trying to make sure that whenever she hits the ground, she won't break every limb. Getting dropped somewhere is not anything someone ever expects, and the urgency almost overrides the idea of looking around, trying to figure out where in the hells she is.

Is this the demiplane acting up? A dream? Extreme hallucinations? It doesn't stop that it's happening.

[blindwatchersees]

When she lands, it's like she was never falling at all. She's in a dimly lit room with black walls and a black floor, and behind her there's a slow tick... tock... tick... tock.

[abhorrently]

Okay. Everything intact. Her name is still in her head. Now to make sense of this, the same way she made sense of the ship in the first place. Whatever's going on, she's here right now. The room is dark, but she hears a ticking, and she's going to follow her ears. Careful stepping, just in case the floor wants to play tricks again, but she's trying to follow it.

And with the edge of a spell close to mind, just in case it's needed.

[blindwatchersees]

As she turns, she finds herself facing a carved stone desk, at which sits a mostly-bald, tired-looking, middle-aged man wearing what could only be described as subdued, professional motley- a mostly-black getup with mutton sleeves and a high, bright red jester's ruff.

"Another mortal. Quaint."

[abhorrently]

"Who are you?"

The question is probably a natural one, when a half-elf shakes her head to clear it of the confusion, coming to grips with what's actually in the room as she turns around. The desk, the light. The person. Was this the one who cast her down?

[blindwatchersees]

"Let's be civil, shall we? Do sit down first, and then I will answer any questions you might have."

[abhorrently]

"I'd prefer to be a little more sure of my surroundings before I sit down."

Discretely, her hand twitches at her side. Shield, wrapped around her like a favored veil, just in case.

[blindwatchersees]

"You may take your time." He sounds like he finds this whole matter particularly tiresome, like he's already had this conversation a dozen times today.

[abhorrently]

She shoots him a sharp glance, but she'll walk around the room. Checking it, making sure there's no traps. And then the chair, to make sure there's no traps on that, either.

Only then does she sit down, posture straight - she'd leap out of this at a hair's notice.

[blindwatchersees]

"Now. What can I do for you?"

[abhorrently]

"Who are you, and where are we?"

Because this man she doesn't trust as far as she can throw him. Particularly when she's been in the mire of her own head.

[blindwatchersees]

"I am Haskill, Chamberlain to the Lord Sheogorath. This space is for the interview of candidates to enter the Shivering Isles."

[abhorrently]

The mention of Sheogorath's name doesn't alleiviate all her worries, but it's a point in this man's favor. Actually, most of that is familiar. Hm.

"...Okay. So, what do you need to know?"

Go with it for now.

[blindwatchersees]

"Firstly, I will need to record your name and your reason for approaching my Lord's realm."

[abhorrently]

"Fever. I don't have a reason to be approaching, I fell through my floor and ended up here by coincidence."

If that's a reason he heard before.

[blindwatchersees]

"Fascinating," he replies in a blasé tone, as if she had just commented about a cloud being shaped like a cloud. After he copies something down in the book in front of him, he looks back at her, and says,

"Through the door behind me lies the realm of Sheogorath, Prince of Madness, Lord of the Never-There. You are free to return from where you came, and your life will be none the worse from your time spent here. Or, you may continue onward, through the door. Understand that this is an invitation, and not a summoning; whatever you choose to do is your own decision."

[abhorrently]

"Do I only get the one chance? Is it possible to walk away and then return?"

It matters to her decision. She already wants to go, but she needs to be sure.

[blindwatchersees]

"My Lord will likely be looking for a champion for quite some time. Should you wish to return, I'm certain the position will still be open."

[abhorrently]

"I need a little time to think. I'll be back."

But the thing is, Fever leaves, but she does not leave. There is one branch where she does. Where she opens her eyes and forgets all of what occurred, lying on the floor, and carries on with her day. And then in her dreams, instead of the expected surges of violence, of battling with herself, there is a strange door - it shines so blue.

And there is a branch where she does not leave at all. Picking up from the paused heartbeat, time ticks on again. And she has her hands folded on her lap, looking at Haskill.

"I choose to continue onward."