It was I who sent the dreams.
Blackness rent through with torture. Her home, that sweet little hamlet, engulfed in toxic black smoke as hungry fire licks angry burns onto the flesh of her family. Monstrous daedroths hunting the children, devouring them: the blood coursing from their snarling jaws as the skulls crack and their screams are silenced forever.
I am kind to those who obey My Word. They are the ones who will last longer in their mortal realm, at least until they have exhausted their usefulness. I will not tolerate anything less. As the Harvester of Souls, it is My duty to ensure mortals under My sway have done all they can to the world before leaving it for Coldharbour. Their souls are Mine forever.
She was the ultimate tool, My right hand and weapon to wreak havoc across Nirn. But she faltered, as humans are cursed to, and her soul was consumed by My fury. I punished My own daughter for her insolence—why would I not punish My fair, sweet tool?
She could have fled, had I not intervened. Rather than release her from her earthly torment in the sweet black peace of death, I manipulated the soul of an Imperial Legionnaire to find her and convict her of dozens of unsolved murders. She spent five years locked away in the cold, fetid walls of the Imperial Prison, and every night I sent her the dreams. My realm is not of nightmare—I would dare not take darling Vaermina’s duties from her. But the girl was Mine, one of My flock to do with as I pleased. For five years she watched her family and neighbours writhe in their own pools of blood and filth, unable to help as My minions devoured her soul, piece by piece.
She is Mine now, fully and truly. And if she betrays Me again, I may not be so gentle as I was before.