Pulling back from your thoughts, the Maker® considers your situation. Standard magic resistance won’t work against Bug Musk (it’s tried), and it recognizes that you’ll have no desire to oppose this sorceress once the pheromones are deployed. It wonders if you can telekinetically remove the enchanted clothing and try to simply endure the controlling effects of the Musk on its own, but you both simultaneously realize that her magic absorption enchantments would prevent any such thing. You add that your usual method for getting people out of their clothes only works on men. Wow, gross, the Maker® thinks. Are there any more Bug Musk bottles around you, it wonders? If you can get your meaty phalanges on some, you might be able to convince her to wait while you fill out the registration forms. Are we really still on about the registration forms? With exasperation, you note that if you can find some way to charm her into submission, you won’t even need CairnCorp (®, the skeleton adds). The Maker®, in return, notes that that stings. There is a barrel of imp gall, you think. The Maker®, like you, recognizes it as an ingredient in the more rudimentary potions diplomats use to boost their charisma, and wonders if there’s any other reagents it could be mixed with. Nothing but water, you reply, and that won’t do anything to enhance the alchemical properties of the imp gall. If you weren’t panicked, you’d be a little proud you actually know this stuff now. The Maker® is silent. Then, it thinks: How much imp gall is there? You… might see where this is going. A full barrel, you think. You’re blocked off from it by bars, though, and it’s too heavy for you to magically drag to the cage. With some help, you could potentially reach it, or even just beat the witch up directly. As in, you sure. Could. Use. SOME. HELP.

As soon as your senses are back, you apologize to Sigrid for stopping mid-word. ANYWAY, as I was saying, I can talk at length about why I… would… Sigrid isn’t saying anything. As your words peter out, Sigrid still says nothing. Until – You know, Katia, I’ve been so dead-set on figuring out how you came to hate me so, I’ve been neglecting a much more interesting question: why are you so dead-set on stalling for time? I’ll say it again: you’re not the type who would be saved by friends. If you truly do have any friends besides me, I suspect they’re the sort who merely tolerate you. But, you are an aspirant mage. And while lacking in both power and intelligence, you certainly are the kind of Khajiit who would try to cast her way out of a situation like this. You’d probably come up with an elaborate plan that could be completely ruined by, say, one magical silence spell. I’m not casting any spells! The response comes out as a strained squeak as you struggle to maintain the unwieldy summoning spell and continue your telepathic conversation with the “Maker” (®, the Keeper™ adds). Strands of magicka weave together in what you assume is Sigrid’s hand. You can practically hear her smirk. If you’re not casting any spells, she says, then surely you wouldn’t mind if I cast a silence spell on you? Go ahead! Cast it! I promise you that I am not doing anything magical! Alright then, she says, I will. W-wait, that was a bluff, can I go back a step? With the sound of sparking magic, Sigrid thrusts her hand forward. You move to dodge, but the silencing spell strikes you and-