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A delicate brush of his fingers upon her cheek, a gentle heeding call of her name, the sweet passionate taste of his lips, now naught but fleeting hazes of memory adrift in the passing of a single howling afternoon breeze. Be it the Thalmor, Imperial, or Stormcloak, it matters not. For no amount of victory can bring her beloved back.

And most certainly not an inheritance letter with a few septims...

((Just a simple thought crossed my mind after going back on all those Thalmor I killed. They have families too!))