Flash Fiction February Day 24 Home (Isabelle)

 Day 24 Home:

A/N: The HoK deserved better, I will die on this hill. They need (living) friends.

During my time in Cyrodiil I have lived or at the very least slept in many places, yet formed no real attachment to any of them, except for one or two. Cheydinhal in particular, as it is where I have spent much of my time, I have fond memories of. Though now as I sit on the floor of the abandoned house that serves as a front for the sanctuary I wonder…will this place still feel like home? I didn’t want to do it, you know, kill all those people- I cared about them. At least I can find solace in the fact I gave them a painless death and proper burial, they deserve that much. Taking a break from wallowing in my self pity I decide to go for a walk, it’s late now, but the quiet streets of this little city are somehow strangely calming, quite different to the bustling streets of Daggerfall, where you’ll run into someone at any time of night. “Can I help you, ma’am?” A guard asks as I walk along, I tell him everythings alright and continue on my way, thankfully he uses his head and doesn’t ask questions. Looking up at the stars in the dark sky I continue walking, eventually going out of the city and out into the night, the countryside allows one to wander for hours lost in thought. After some time I find myself at the top of a little hill where a ruined fort sits silently, a very familiar fortress, and finding the secret trap door hidden by a tree I climb down the ladder into the ruins.

The place remains unchanged, a partially made bed still in the corner with a picture or two hanging on the wall nearby, the clanking noise of the dark guardian as it walks back and forth in the hallway separated by a gate, apples sitting on a barrel that were waiting to be used. In one corner a pile of books sits, untouched for who knows how long, a dagger and its sheath lays on the desk next to paper and a container of ink, with a hooded black robe put carelessly over the chair. You wouldn’t know that the person who lived here will never return to their cozy little flat away from the bustle of the city, to their perfect little hideaway…to the only home they ever felt comfortable in.

On that note, I climb back up the ladder and close the door behind me, taking some time to sit at the top of that hill and look out into the darkness. Day is coming soon, though I wish it wouldn’t. Collecting my thoughts I find my way back to Cheydinhal, to the abandoned house, and the empty place below it. Going through the chest I gather up my belongings and return to the street level, I’ll come back here, eventually. But for now it is simply a house, and so I turn my sights to the north, to Bruma, the closest place to a home I have left.