Blackfeather Woods dreamcatcher

For a moment it seemed that he had broken the woman for good, and that nothing would make her come back. He had expected no less, to tell the truth. Why would she kill her mate, her lover, for an uncertain chance at glory? But Sheogorath knew the path of the psychopath — he knew the path of not caring for others. He did not care for anyone, not truly; the world was his playground, and he was its King. The control that he held in this world was proven once more by this pathetic display.

He would have mocked her, spat at her and laughed in her face had it stayed to that; it would be a representation of Cicero that he would spit upon, weak and feeling, a sniveling coward that cared and felt. Cicero would never ask such a cruel thing, for he believed in not harming the innocent up to some degree or another, but Sheogorath didn't care. If she wanted to sever her ties to the world out there, then this was how. He had thought her not strong enough, but as some time passed she seemed to regain her composure.

Sheogorath's eyes sparked as she asked him for a new name if she were to kill Terich-Mir. He nodded and promised, the smirk falling from his face to prove that he meant it, "I will give you a new name and make you a Brotherhood apprentice if you bring me his head." He wasn't sure if she was up to it, but there was no harm in shooting for the moon. "And once that is done, we will see about your next task so that you may become a full member of the Dark Brotherhood." Sheogorath licked his lips, curious how she would go about it. Truthfully, he felt like she could use some help, and considered offering it because he could use some blood. But then he did not, waiting to see if she would ask for his help, or if she was so determined that she would do it herself.