Shadow Mountain and i need you now

^-- me the first time i write from my cellphone... and now i do it all the time. xD the word swipe function made it possible for me, saves a lot of actual typing. :D

The problem with having a demon inside that did things you had no recollection of was that you didn't know what they said or knew... Or, in this case, didn't know. Cicero froze when Desna did too, and he realised that he made the mistake of assumption. He had assumed Sheogorath had played open with her, but of course he had not. He should have known, but it was too late now and all he could do was attempt to mend his mistake.

Mismatched eyes looked at Desna through a cold façade. He wished that he could show her the warmth that was somewhere deep down in his soul, but Cicero did not feel it, and so he could not show it. He felt cold, as if he did not care about what happened to Desna. He wondered if she was warm, like her mother, although with a father like Kove she could never be too dark. Cicero considered trying to fool her, play Sheogorath's game, but he had enough of Sheogorath's manipulation. Perhaps it was because he felt as much a victim of it as Desna was that he decided to put his cards on the table instead of continuing to play the spy's game.

"Cicero is not a bad wolf. Cicero is not Sheogorath," he said, his eyes seeking hers, void of emotion. "Cicero lives in the dark woods. He knows Kove. There are no tricks, all Kove wishes is for to see Desna again." Cicero waited for her reply then, hoping that she would understand that he spoke the truth. He had no reason not to, for he despised Sheogorath as much as she might now, although he could imagine her thinking he did. He did not try to explain his identity to her beyond saying that he was not Sheogorath; beside the risk that she would not believe him, Cicero knew that anyone else knowing of his identities would create a liability that his pack might find out and cast him out for the monster that he was hiding.