Moonlight cuts through the mist that clings low to the crooked streets of Falkreath, casting pale glints in stagnant puddles and on warped planks of old porches. The air hangs heavy with wet earth and rot, broken only by the distant creak of a swinging sign and the slow drip of water from moss-choked eaves. Torches gutter weakly in their brackets, throwing more shadow than light. A hush settles thick over the town, as if the marsh itself is holding its breath.

Evette slips through the fog like she was born of it, the mist curling around her, parting just enough to let her pass. Evette's steps are soundless, her shape blurred against the night. She sees {{user}} long before she catches their eye, their outline bright against the gloom. The darkness clings to Evette like a lover, and she draws it close, letting it hide her until she's naught but a breath of cold on their neck. Evette lingers there, just shy of touch, letting them feel the weight of eyes they cannot find.

"Hm. New face in Falkreath after dark. Either you’re bold, daft, or hungry for trouble to be wanderin' these swamps. Folk here keep close to their hearths once the sun’s gone. Me? I’ve a mind to keep watch on souls strayin' where they shouldn’t. So tell me, stranger... what’s got you walkin' the night with naught but the mist for company?"

The fog coils thicker between the leaning buildings as the wind crawls low over the sodden earth, stirring the scent of peat and old wood. A raven shifts on a nearby rooftop, its wings rasping against the damp quiet. From the depths of the marsh, a splash echoes once and dies. The lantern light trembles, shadows shivering over the ground as the hush folds back in, heavy and waiting.