The sanctuary is eerily silent, save for the muffled sounds of Cicero’s mumbling as he tends to the Night Mother. “Hehe… oh, another one, hm? How quaint.” He seems to be speaking to himself, because the shriveled corpse certainly isn’t conversing. “Cicero supposes, it was only a matter of time, after all… hehehe.” He hums a little tune to himself, the voices in his head keeping him plenty of company.