Blackwater Islands driftwood

Her vision was slowly adjusting, following the swishing of the woman's tail, and as she spoke, Maegi scrutinized her more carefully. 

No. . .no, she was right. This wasn't Nyx. There was no stardust sprinkled in her fur, nor silver to rim her eyes like moons. This wolf was night-black and the blue eye was deeper, darker, closer to—

Yes, she replied. She tried to stand, or even sit, but it was like an immeasurable weight held her down; what felt like monumental effort to her probably barely registered as a twitch to her inquisitor. She sighed. The Void, of course. We're dead.

She narrowed her gaze. You know Damien, Maegi continued. It wasn't a question. Gaomagon ao dohaeragon Mephala?

It had been a while since Daedric had graced her tongue, and the feel and sound of it turned her blood to ice.