Getting into Skyrim promised to be a misery like none other. The leads were vague at best regarding where precisely he needed to go, and the security around the docks had increased “mysteriously” in the past days in Wayrest—as “mysteriously” as one might expect following reports of dead bodies found on recent ships coming into the city.
She didn't giggle in the darkness of the tunnels. Every shadow reached for her like a hand emerging from the past to draw her back into memory, into fear. Now and again, her heart raced. The tunnels terrified her, and yet they made her feel at home. They were familiar, even in their unfamiliarity.
Of course, it was as such, for the night was the only solitude from the pain, the light, the noises, always burning into the back of the mind. The stresses of the everyday tedium. One uses the night is to reflect, for the day is a mask as much as the night is, for during the day a person would place the mask to the world, the one for their career, as well as loved ones, even from oneself. But the night is where one's truest nature could come out very easily. For many, it is their solace and the warm blanket that holds them as they sleep during the day.