Blackfeather Woods Despair has its own calms

As Nemesis spoke, Miraak felt his opinion of her change, word by word. Sure, she was impulsive and firey, but she was ruthless, cruel, merciless. It was something he expected of Meldresi's son, but had not yet found, not in the purity that he now saw in Nemesis. His instigation had been successful: she was more than just a bitter woman.

He still loved his nephew, but the shade had lived through many Listeners and leaders, and knew who was best suited to ruling an assassins' guild. He knew a Dark Master when he saw one. And here she stood in front of him, duling out the Wrath of Sithis; no apologies, no mercy. Her face was cold and expressionless despite the crippling poison that drenched her words.

His face bore no expression as she demoted him; his rank did not matter to him. He would perform his tasks the same. When her tirade ended, the shade smiled, then chuckled, and laughed. Realizing how rude he must have seemed, Miraak sunk to the ground, rolling in submission. I have underestimated you, zōbrie ābra-āeksio,He smiled up at her briefly. I hear your words and obey,