I spoke with my brother, Paarthurnax, this evening just past, during which I asked him a question. “Is it strange-” I asked, “-to have a sister instead of brother.”
“Nid.” He replied, “We have many sisters after all.” This was news to me, who has never encountered a dov who did not present himself as masculine in some capacity. It is then he revealed to me the existence of the Jill- weavers who spin together the thread of time should it ever fray. I wondered aloud why I had yet to encounter one of my sisters, or even hear of them before, to which Paarthurnax explained that jill are simply too grand a presence for mortals to understand, their forms too vast to occupy Mundus, even for a moment. I now look up at the lights of the northern sky and see shadows that I never noticed before- the shadows of jill, breaking through a curtain beyond our material plane.
This is not all my brother told me. He said “We do not call you ‘mal’ for your mortal appearance, or for your youth. Your dovahsiil carries a presence that rivals even Alduin. No, Briinah. You are not small for a dov.”
“You are small for a jill.”
- Memoirs of the Last Dragonborn, Malkaaztafiir
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quam stultus es. deus sum. quomodo deum caedere potes? quam grandis inebriansque innocentia. quomodo potes tam credulus esse? nullum effugium est. nulla Revocatio vel Interventus potest in hoc loco agere. veni. arma depone. misericordiae meae non serum est.
What a fool you are. I'm a god. How can you kill a god? What a grand and intoxicating innocence. How could you be so naive? There is no escape. No Recall or Intervention can work in this place. Come. Lay down your weapons. It is not too late for my mercy.
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