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My hands fumbled as I reached for the soul gem. Grand- she wouldn’t want you to use a black soul . She was so principled- or, I guess, as principled as a Telvanni could get. There were days where I hated that part of myself- the expectations, the history. But not today. Not when it let me see her.
I took a slow, centering breath. Focus, Brelyna. You can do this. I wouldn’t mess it up- not like I’ve done before. This was too important. I hurried, ingredients in my arms, to where her shrine sat. Focus.
Quietly, I began mixing a poultice. It’s just like anything you’ve made before. Netch jelly for stickiness. Corkbulb to counteract the paralysis. I dipped my finger in it, then slid open her urn with my other hand. I’d already messed up the order- I should’ve opened it first, but it didn’t really matter. I hope. I set my hand in the ashes, then lifted it back out, her gray remains sticking to my covered finger.
The only sounds in the room were my footsteps across the floor. Steadying myself against the cold shelf on which her shrine sat with my left hand, I started drawing a rune, my finger leaving behind a faintly glowing line of ash.
If Phinis was correct, on the midnight I slipped out of the Arch-Mage’s quarters to ask, bringing someone back from the halfway point between the mortal plane and Oblivion required much more precision than most ancestral rituals. And it could only be done temporarily.
“Wish me luck, Afonya.” It was wishful thinking, but maybe she could hear me, all the way back in Skyrim. Next step: the incantation.
My mouth moved, but my mind was elsewhere. I was terrified of what would happen if this didn’t work. Luckily for me, the lonely nights spent practicing had paid off.
Carefully, I wiped the rest of her ashes back into the urn. I tried to focus on the moment- my slow, deliberate breathing, the cold soul gem, the soft hum of its magic in my hands- rather than thinking ahead.
I steadied my shaking hands and set the soul gem down in the gray powder between her skeletal hands. Azura- or I suppose Nocturnal- please, let this work.
I stepped back, keeping my eyes glued to the shrine. It was probably seconds, standing there, waiting, but it felt like a lifetime- like I was caught in an hourglass, waiting for the sands to drown me once again.
Then the ashes started glowing. The purple mist- what had my mother called it? The omen of Conjuration? steadily rose from the soul gem, filling the room in a violet cloud before dissipating.
And there she was. Mostly as she looked in life- pale eyes, dark hair, purplish ears that curled up at the tips. So little had changed- just the Nightingale armor, which she had barely worn before, and the white runes up her arms, warding off the undead. And- is she bored? She looks bored.
“Are you bored?” I blurted out. Brelyna, you mess.
“Am I- what?” She looked up at me, confused, then her eyebrows raised. “Brey?”
I awkwardly smiled.
“Brey- how?”
“I’m a mage too!” My hands flew up in mock offense. “I know people- and spells!” My skin flushed purple. “I can’t believe it- like I didn’t mess it up or-“ I wasn’t making sense. I never needed to, around her.
She raised a transparent hand up into the light. “Wow. That’s- impressive. Am I a ghost?” Her eyes scanned the room. “Did you bring me to Morrowind?”
“It’s been done before.” I shrugged. I had forgotten how good her compliments felt.
She instinctively reached her hand out towards my cheek, then paused, a cloud of indecision over her face. I raised my eyebrows, then felt the cool of her fingers on my skin. “Why’d I think ghosts couldn’t touch people? I’ve fought ghosts. I’ve stabbed one.”
I laughed in the way I only could around her. “No stabbing today. I just wanted to-“ I paused. How do you explain the type of loneliness that makes you feel like you’ll never be warm again? How do you describe the pain of rushing into the other room, full of the excitement of a discovery, only to have nobody to tell it to? The answer- for me at least, is you don’t. With the right person, you don’t have to. “To talk to you again.”
Afonya smiled and pushed herself off of the table. She reached for my hand, then my back, and rested her forehead against mine. “I know how loneliness feels, Brey. And-“ her eyes sparkled in the way they only did when she heard a dragon roar, or of a new target for the Thieves Guild. She giggled, “I know the cure.”
Right then and there was the moment I had missed the most. It was her kiss, of course, but it was more. It was that feeling of acceptance, of knowing that no matter what, there will always be someone there who will let you cry on them, who will delve into a ruin just to look for an artifact you’ve heard of, who will sit there with a cup of tea as you talk about a magical practice they know nothing about. The purest form of love. I’m sure in some Imperial library or temple of Mara, there’s an old book with the perfect word for it. But I didn’t need a word. For me, that word was Afonya.