The crisp night air carried the scent of pine from the horizon as I made my way back toward the village. Hel floated beside me, or at least, something that looked like her, did. She wasn't exactly solid, flickering between her natural shadowy form and the vague silhouette of a woman in a flowing black dress. She wore an elegant hat and held a black, spherical umbrella overhead as if shielding herself from the starlight. The pure visage of a noble girl. Best way I could put it. Her presence barely made a sound, yet I always felt her there—like a chill brushing against my skin.
"Rune." Her voice was smooth, amused. "You're troubled."
I exhaled, kicking a loose stone down the dirt path. "Yeah, it's about Sissel."
"That girl." Hel nodded, watching me from the corner of her inky eyes. "I reckon her troubles are not but few."
I clenched my jaw. I guess Hel knew about it too, at least somewhat.
Lemkil, that bitter drunk of a man full of nothing but resentment, he had two daughters, Sissel and Britte, but he never cared for either or. Britte—the meaner of the two, seemed to take out all her frustration on her sister. While Sissel herself? She got the worst of their father. I'd seen the bruises, the way she shrank under his gaze. It just didn't click in my childish brain until now, when I remembered the full picture from the game.
He beat her.
And it made me sick.
"I want to do something about it," I said. "But if I get the guards involved, they'll probably ignore it or just tell him to be nicer. And if I confront him myself, he'll just get angry and take it out on both of them later."
Hel hummed, her form shifting fluidly as she kept pace with me. "Then what do you propose?"
I stopped walking and turned to her. The pale light of Masser and Secunda cast her shadow long across the dirt. Or was that also part of her body? I couldn't tell with how foggy her presence seemed.
"I want him to be afraid."
Hel tilted her head. "Afraid?"
"If he's too scared to lay a hand on his daughters, then he won't. We need to make him believe that something worse than getting drunk and throwing punches is waiting for him in the dark."
Slowly, Hel's lips curled into a jagged smile. "You want me to haunt him?"
"Not just haunt. Break him. Make him believe that if he ever touches his daughters again, something will come for him." I met her gaze. "Something like you. Make him think you're the ghost of his late wife who died giving birth to their children."
Hel laughed, the sound low and rich, carrying through the trees like a whisper on the wind. "Oh, Rune… you truly do have a sharp mind." She reached out, her fingers grazing the edge of my cheek. "You want a monster to keep the other monsters in check?"
I nodded.
Her grin widened. "I like it."
The wind picked up, rustling the branches overhead. Hel's form stretched, twisting unnaturally, her shape flickering like a candle in the dark.
"I will make sure he learns fear tonight," she purred. "And when the shadows whisper his name, he will know he is never alone."
A shiver ran down my spine. Not out of fear, but out of something else. Anticipation.
"Good." I turned back toward the village, my fists clenched. "Give him a nightmare he'll never wake up from. One that will let Sissel sleep peacefully at last."
Hel's form rippled like ink spreading through water, she tilted her head at me; her smirk lingering. "Would you like to watch?"
I raised an eyebrow. "How exactly would that work? I can't just stand in his house without getting noticed."
Her smile widened, her form shifting fluidly, almost playfully. "Like this."
Before I could react, darkness surged around me. Cold, weightless, and utterly silent. It wasn't like being blind—I could see, but the world had lost its shape, existing only in shades of black and grey.
I realized, with a start, that I was inside Hel.
I could still feel myself, still move, but my body was… different. Less solid. More like mist, like I had become a living shadow. I could feel Hel all around me, her presence coiling like smoke against my own.
Her soothing voice echoed from all around me. "Comfortable?"
I swallowed hard, adjusting to the sensation. It wasn't unpleasant, just… unnerving.
Inside Hel's darkness, I could feel everything as though I were still outside—see through her eyes, hear through her senses. It was… strange. I was weightless, formless, yet aware. A passenger in her shadowy form.
"Guess we'll find out if I am. Let's go, Hel."
Hel chuckled softly, and then we moved.
It was so fast that I could barely keep up with the scenery as it moved past us. Hel moved across the earth in a shadowy form, the best way I could compare it was as if I were in a sports car going two or three hundred miles per hour. But we were flat, melting into each surface as we hovered over it. Hel moved like a whisper through the night, gliding through the land with me still merged inside her. The Frostfruit Inn loomed ahead, its warm glow spilling out into the cold Rorikstead night as we clung to the darkness, unseen, waiting.
It didn't take long. The door swung open, and out stumbled Lemkil, the reek of ale practically oozing off him. He barely gripped the doorframe as his boots scuffed against the wooden floor, and he attempted to steady himself.
"Pathetic."
I watched as he took an unsteady step forward—then another—before his foot caught on absolutely nothing, and he tumbled forward. His descent was almost comical, arms flailing uselessly before the dirt claimed his face for a kiss. For a few moments, he just laid there, facedown in the mud, like some bloated, discarded corpse.
"Is this truly the great terror ruining that girl's life?"
I scoffed. "Drunk as a skeever and twice as filthy. I don't know whether to laugh or feel sorry for him."
"I could just kill him in a heartbeat and be done with it."
"We can't. Sissel and Britte would get sent to Honorhall Orphanage if he were to die at this time," I said, "or at least, that's what happens in the game."
Lemkil groaned, sluggishly rolling onto his back. He stared blankly at the stars above, muttering something under his breath—too slurred for me to catch.
Hel snickered, her voice laced with amusement. "Let's make him wish he'd stayed in the dirt."
Lemkil groaned as he pushed himself up on unsteady arms, blinking sluggishly as if the stars above had offended him. He swayed where he sat, then gave a rough grunt and forced himself to his feet. He stumbled forward, nearly tipping over again, but this time, he stayed upright. His house wasn't far, just down the road, a squat little thing that had seen better days—kind of like its owner. Hel and I slithered after him, moving as one with the darkness.
"Watch him trip over his own doorstep," I murmured, amused.
Hel chuckled. "Should I make sure of it?"
"Let's see if he manages on his own."
Lemkil's steps were uneven, staggering from one side of the road to the other. He paused at one point, leaning heavily against the side of a fence, his breath coming out in ragged gasps. He muttered something unintelligible again, then spat to the side before continuing his miserable journey home.
One window was dimly lit—a candle, perhaps—the twins must still be awake in there, then.
He reached the door, fumbled with the latch for a long, embarrassing moment, then finally shoved his way inside, kicking it shut behind him with a clumsy heel.
"Well, there he goes. Now, what's your next move, Hel?"
"Now," Hel spoke, "we show him what it means to fear the dark."
Inside, it was just as pitiful. A mess of discarded bottles, unwashed bowls, and stale air. The fire in the hearth flickered weakly, barely giving the place any warmth. Lemkil muttered under his breath again, making his way to the table where another bottle awaited him.
Hel did not move yet. She let the silence stretch.
Then—
The light wavered.
Not from the wind nor from a draft, but from something else entirely. The shadows deepened, twisting unnaturally against the walls. The fire flickered once—twice—before suddenly dying, leaving only a dull glow of embers.
Lemkil froze.
I felt Hel's presence expand, stretching outward like an ink spill, pressing in on the surrounding space.
"Lemkil."
His breath hitched.
The darkness pulsed. The walls seemed to close in. The very air turned thick.
His head snapped around, wild eyes scanning the room. "Who—who's there?" His voice was hoarse, still slurred from drink, but I could hear the shake in it.
Hel did not answer right away. Instead, the shadows moved.
Long, creeping tendrils slithered across the floor, curling around the legs of the table, crawling up the walls.
"You reek of ale and failure, Lemkil. A stench so foul it clings to your very soul."
Her form twisted, the darkness around her pulsing like a living thing.
Lemkil stood up, staring at the unnatural shadows that kept getting closer to him. "W-Who goes there?! What are you?"
"You are a weak man, Lemkil. Pathetic, drowning your regrets in the bottom of a bottle, lashing out at those too small to fight back. How could you do this to our daughters? Our own children?"
"...Frida? Is that you–Frida?" He called out as he backed himself into the corner. "But… You died…!"
Hel's voice dropped to a whisper, yet it somehow filled the entire room. "You will drink no more."
A tendril of darkness slithered forward, curling just under his chin, lifting his trembling face so he could not look away.
"You will sober up, Lemkil. You will keep your hands to yourself. And you will pray that I never have to visit you again."
Sweat dripped down his brow. "W–What? What are you talking about?"
"I have watched." Her voice slithered into his ears like a whisper from the grave. "I have seen what you do to our daughters, Sissel and Britte."
The moment their names left Hel's lips, his face twisted. His fear flashed into something uglier—anger. "Those brats? What about them? They're the reason you're gone! The children took you from me!"
Hel did not answer with words.
Instead, the shadows reached out.
Hands—long and skeletal—crawled from the darkness, wrapping around his ankles, his wrists. They did not pull—not yet. They simply held.
Lemkil's breath came fast and shallow. His chest rose and fell, but he did not dare move.
"You will not touch them again."
His nostrils flared. He struggled, but the hands did not budge.
I felt Hel's amusement.
"You do not heed my warning?" Her tone turned teasing, almost mocking. "Then let me make you an offer."
Lemkil swallowed thickly.
"Make sure the children are happy… and I will not come back."
The hands tightened.
"If you continue to abuse them… Then next time…" The air grew colder. "I will not stop at words."
The shadows exploded.
Hel's form surged outward, stretching across the walls and ceiling, swallowing the weak firelight until the room plunged into absolute darkness. Then, from that abyss, she rose. Her body twisted and swelled, morphing into something grotesque—too many limbs, too many fingers, stretching like skeletal branches. Her head snapped backward with a sickening crack, her face splitting apart into a maw of jagged, needle-thin teeth, opening too wide. A low, gurgling sound crawled from her throat, a mix between a whisper and a death rattle, wet and wrong. From the void of her body, countless eyes—black and empty—snapped open all at once, blinking in perfect, unnatural sync. A long, clawed hand shot forward, grasping the air just inches from Lemkil's throat, her fingers twitching like she was deciding whether to rip him apart or simply let him drown in his own terror. The walls trembled, the very wood groaning as if her presence alone was warping reality.
Lemkil screamed. A sound raw with horror, the kind that ripped straight from the soul.
The door burst open with a sudden creak, and a dim candlelight from the hallway cast long shadows across the floor. Two tiny figures stood in the doorway—Sissel and Britte, their eyes wide with groggy confusion.
"Papa?" Sissel's voice was small, uncertain.
Lemkil was on the floor, pressed against the wall like a cornered animal. His skin was clammy with sweat, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His wild, bloodshot eyes darted around the room, searching—hunting—for something that was no longer there.
But there was nothing.
The air was still as the fire crackled softly in the hearth, flickering like nothing had happened. The furniture sat undisturbed. The shadows settled, behaving as they should. There was no sign of the thing that had just been looming over him.
No sign of Hel.
Britte shivered. "Are you drunk again…?"
Lemkil flinched at the sound of her voice, his head snapping to her like he wasn't sure if she was real. His lips parted, but no words came out—just a breathless, shuddering exhale.
Sissel took a cautious step forward. "What happened?"
Lemkil swallowed thickly, eyes flickering back to the empty darkness in the corners of the room. "N-nothing," he muttered hoarsely, pushing himself off the floor. "Go back to bed, kids."
His hands were still shaking.
I heard a whimper. A pathetic, choked sound from the man who had terrorized his own children.
And I could feel Hel's satisfaction.
Lemkil remained against the wall, his legs shaking, his breathing ragged. He did not speak. Did not move.
Hel's presence curled around me, pulling me deeper into the comforting abyss of her form.
"Shall we go?"
I smiled. "Yes. Good job, Hel."
She giggled as a child would. "Hehe~ hearing your praise does bring me great joy, Rune."
And just like that, we slipped away, leaving Lemkil alone in his trembling silence.
…