Blackfeather Woods my friends forsake me like a memory lost:

She had not been in the swamps since her fateful encounter with Sheogorath. She still shuddered as she approached the now frozen Mire, remembering the violation clearly, as if the mottled body was on her now, wrapped around her and whispering sickly sweet things into her ears.

Potema shook herself, her body gaunt and listless even after ending her poppy consumption for weeks now. The white witch strode into the swamp, letting the filth embrace her, sloshing through the muck.