Lion Head Mesa she is lonely most of the time

"It's Sheogorath."

And she thought that might be the end, that one simple name would bring an end to this all. Jakoul had a name, she could find a face. She could rip and —

"The madman god of my family's tradition."

And how did you tear out the throat of a god, Jakoul?

The diagnoses, the symptoms, everything seemed so grim. The shadows that the mesa threw over them might as well have been glaring daylight compared to this darkness. Babies cursed, Mou dead, Maegi had tried to follow. There was a slick acidic taste in the back of her throat that threatened to mount further. A thick coating of drool smothered her mouth, a tentative lick to drying lips as she listened.

"—but I know I can't survive this. I can barely go on."

Grim, grim, grim.

She stared into those familiar, mismatched eyes.

Do anything for Maegi. Want help.

Even if it was ugly, even if it condemned her to this madman god too.