The first few years were scary and strange, but ripe with new death and the luxurious promises of immortality. They spent too many starry evenings chasing each other through Dawnstar’s pine woods and collapsing by daylight with their eyes heavy and amber. Sometimes, when Saali giggled her way through piles of leaves in the Hearthfire, or whispered little secrets in her ear, Nara swore she felt her heartbeat again, briefly enchanted with vampirism, enamored with the fantasy of forever growing old with this precious girl who had become, magically and inadvertently, her daughter.  And then Saali never grew.  She cuts a few thin slices of elk blood pudding, having made it just the night before, and plates it for her girl, who is sitting on the porch steps and watching the dawn crest the Pale mountains. There's an empty space beside her where her little shadow ought to be. Watching through the window, she reminds herself of a better time, early mornings when they’d dance to the sound of the floorboards creaking and bask in the little sunlight they could, and Saali’s caramel skin would glow, and her dark ringlets would gleam and bounce with every step. When the mourning doves began to croon, Saali would curl up in her arms, and Nara would rock her to sleep.

“I don’t mean to be offensive,” Nara murmurs. “But the stitching on your hood is just awful!” He bites back a laugh - typical Nord decorum. “I did it myself. You don’t like it?” “Not at all, Oh Gods!” She exclaims, beckoning with her left hand and shifting through her bag with the right. “You poor thing. Hand it over, I’ll fix it for you.”  Amused, he removes the hood and hands it over for examination. It really is terrible, no more than a rag, really, and the criticized stitching had taken him nearly two hours and plenty of poked fingers. Nara makes a strangled noise, and fidgets with a spool of golden thread. “Who taught you to stitch?” She asks in a strained whisper, holding the pathetic fabric to the light.  “My mother. Though she’d be the first to tell you I didn’t inherit her talent.”  “Well, that much is obvious.” Nara sighs. “Don’t worry. I’ll sort this out.”

Nestled in the thread a heartbeat over, strung taught about the loom, tonight these two lay somewhere far away from here and heavy-wet with snow, and perhaps they have just now finished kissing in the drift, and perhaps they have just now started laughing like boys in love while watching the skies come down in flurries.  “Mika, do you believe in fate?” Loukas asks; he’s caught the tiniest crystalline portrait upon his fingertip, a prism capped artistically at either end. Mika’s dark hair is decorated with the little snowy gems.  “I do.” His lover props himself upon an elbow and steals another smooch. “And I believe you are fated to kiss me again.” Loukas smiles - knowing this is true - but cannot pull his eyes from the snow. “But it’s sad, isn’t it?” “Kissing me is sad? You devastate me,” He teases. He falls back in the drift bank with a whump and clasps a wounded hand over heart. “Ouch.” “You poseur.” Loukas elbows him gently. “No. Fate, yes? Consider the snowflake.” Another one lands squarely in his hand, and he holds it out for observation. “No matter how intricate, how delicate, how immaculately designed, it’s only water in the end. And nothing it can do about that, not really.” To illustrate his point, he closes his fist and reveals the resulting puddle-once-snowflake. It rivers through the lines in his palm and down the veins in his wrists, tribuating and coming together as if seeking itself again. Mika turns his hand over, clasps and kisses it. His lips are warm against his freezing skin - they have both allowed the night to get away from them.  “It was briefly beautiful,” He responds, and kisses another off the bridge of his nose. “Let that be enough.” Loukas lays Mika’s head against his chest and traces the curve of his soft jaw; feels the syncing of his breath as it sits against his gentile heart. “Do not leave me.” “Loukas.” Hand-in-hand, bodies entwined, he kisses the top of his head. Even in the chill of winter, they cannot help but to keep one another warm. His breathing has evened, slowed. Have you fallen asleep, my love? “Loukas.” “Do you want me to carry you in?” He soothes. He brushes a loose strand of hair behind his ear. It’s the strangest thing; when his hand comes away, his fingertips are wet and sticky with blood. When he wipes them in the fresh snow, they leave behind a rusty stain. In this moment of confusion, he notices the quiet. The silence. And Mika’s sudden lack of breathing.

Sujamma orps off to the Earth Stone. One time Mean Friend tried to use the Earth Stone to leave Squid Friend's home, which wasn't very nice. Squid Friend can be a little weird, but Sujamma would never leave him, not ever ever! He thinks Squid Friend must get really lonely in his big green house - the color of Sujamma! So he hopes Mean Friend and Rotation stay with Squid Friend.  He sinks into the gloop beneath the Earth Stone and finds himself in the strange and mysterious library belonging to Squid Friend. Most of the books here are not very good, but Sujamma also can't read, so he isn't really sure. His favorite book ever is a book that Best Friend sometimes reads him which is called Ner-e-var Moon-and-Star which is a good book about a guy named Nerevar and moons and also stars and Star Friend!  Oh good! Justin is here! “Hi hi.” Sujamma orps to Justin. “HAAAAGHHHHGHHAARRRRGHHHAGHHHGHHRRAHH,” Justin greets. “WAAAAHHHHARRHEHEHAHHHAAAAH.” So true! Justin is his fourth very best friend here after Squid Friend, Mean Friend, and Rotation. Usually Justin asks politely for Rotation to come and pick him up and bring him to mean friend.  “HAAAAAAAAAREEEEEEREEEEEEGGGGGGUUURRRRRWAAAAAAA,” Justin whispers softly. Sujamma hears the familiar sound of Rotation's wings flapping through the skies. Soon enough he lands in front of Sujamma. Yay!

1. Which areas of Skyrim do they find most beautiful and most dangerous?
2. Which cities do they prefer to stay in and why? Which cities to they avoid at all costs?
3. What are their religious affiliations, and how does their worship (or lack thereof) affect their day-to-day life?
4. Do they believe the College of Winterhold caused the Great Collapse? If no, what is their theory?
5. Would they be able to live off the land if they were lost in the wilds of Skyrim? How skilled are they at foraging and hunting?
6. What is their opinion on Skyrim's "bandit problem"?
7. Do they regret journeying to Skyrim? Or, if they were born in Skyrim, do they wish they could leave?
8. What is their favorite kind of food that can only be found in Skyrim?
9. Do they believe in snow/sky whales?
10. Are they a part of any factions, guilds, or organizations?
11. If they are a magic user, what is their favorite school of magic? Do they have a natural talent for magic, or does it require diligence and study?
12. What are their prejudices? What groups have they come to think of as 'other'? Mages? Nords? Elves? Lollygaggers?
13. Do they believe the old nordic tales about the Dragonborn? If they are Dragonborn how has their experience differed?
14. Who is their mentor? Who do they go to most for lessons?
15. How do they feel about consorting with daedra? Do they collect their artifacts? Are there some they would never interact with vs. some they would consider calling upon?
16. What are their opinions on the civil war? Do they support a side or leave them to their own devices?
17. Do they have family? Who doe they consider to be family?
18. What is their stance on taking a life? Do they kill without a second thought, in the name of a god or daedra, or do they adhere to pacifism?
19. How are they with money? Do they hoard, or do they spend until their pockets are empty and they have to find work again? Have they saved for any houses?
20. Can they read?