Blackfeather Woods i don't know if i am real without you

The beast had lurked beneath the surface for some time, much to Cicero's contentedness. It seemed that the outburst between himself and the ruddy wolf atop the mountain had helped, as well as keeping himself busy. The pain helped. Cicero had always been particularly partial to pain, even as a pup he had laughed when his brother would try to choke him when they played. Yet now it was not only a manner of relief and sick pleasure, but it was also a manner of keeping at bay Sheogorath, who seemed ever most present when emotions were suppressed.

A question had been bothering Cicero ever since he had returned, and he knew that he would not rest easy until he figured it out. And so he had stumbled over to the cache where he carried his poisons. His left side was still ragged-looking, his shoulder and neck marred with scabbed over wounds. He could not access those wounds himself, however, having had others tend to them instead and washing it in the stream. His right leg, however, was easily accessible and so when he reached his poison cache, Cicero had carefully peeled off the scabs from the wound. Red flesh was displayed and blood started to drip from the wound, though not at alarming rates. Cicero carefully took a piece of poison ivy between his teeth. His tongue itched with the (un)pleasant sting as he touched the leaf gingerly, a shiver running down his spine. Cicero moved the leaf on top of the wound, and soon the leaf was engulfed with blood, sticking to the wound. His tongue lapped against the inside of his teeth while he savoured the unpleasant feeling, and the boy closed his mismatched eyes as a shiver of pain and pleasure mixed as the poisonous leaf melded with his wound.