Blackfeather Woods Bloody Mary, full of vodka, blessed are you amongst cocktails.

Her reaction was understandable albeit slightly hurtful still. Cicero knew that it would take a lot of time to forgive, if ever she could, and that time might only give Sheogorath, the beast, more time to surface and ruin things once more. Ragged ears folded back as she shouted and snapped at him and he took a step backward, recoiling from her hatred even though he knew it was deserved.

"Cicero is not here to bring harm," he said, though the words feel hollow and empty for he knew he did not have control of himself as he wished he had. He opened his mouth to say he only cared for Damien in that way but it seemed even more demeaning than what she had already been through. Her eyes barely focussed on him as she snapped in his general direction. He felt pain but felt like he was very much on the opposite side of the spectrum as his sister: she delusional and he down to earth as his pain brought him here. He would need more to get to her phase, or maybe simply more time. More pain. He wondered if he enjoyed the pain so much because he deserved it.

The beast deserved it.

And so he deserved it, for he was the beast, even if he did not remember what he had done.

He did not need to remember it himself, for the effects were so vividly available to him in his daily life now. "Potema, you did not deserve that. This." The words were hollow and empty and meaningless. Words in general were meaningless. He squinted his eyes at the pain, though expression remained stoic otherwise.