There’s a reason the face sculptor lives in the Ratways. It’s the only place she can hide her can of worms.

The notion of altering one’s face may be ideal from a gameplay perspective, but from a lore standpoint it’s crazier than a barrel full of Orcs. The ability to take on the faces of loved ones, confidants and infiltrate places in plain sight makes it a game-breaking tool for any assassin or thief. As such, in most universes, shape-shifting is a power reserved for the most dangerous of villains. It’s a rare practice, a difficult feat, a taboo. It is not offered to random strangers for the cost of an ebony mace. After all, if such skills were available to everyone, it would destroy the very concept of physical identity. If anyone can be anyone, then there’s no guarantee that anyone is anyone.

Your spouse could be your neighbor, looking for a taste. Your child may be some orphan who wanted a better life. The guardsman who teases you about your stolen sweetroll could be the thief who stole it. Hell, he could be Ulfric Stormcloak. He’d certainly have the face for it. All it takes is some gold and a smith willing to forge it.

The elven sword Pelgurt asks you to retrieve is just that. A forgery. It’s a stranger posing as a member of the family. It wears its face, it bears its markings, but it has none of the history. Nevertheless, its resemblance alone is enough for Vartheim to question whether the sword he’s stolen is real. The same is true for the face of the mercenary Benild. At no point does he consider that her identity is as false as Pelgurt’s sword.

In the end, the story of The Elven Sword is one about deception. Whether it’s the make of a sword or the face on a skull, when identities can be bought and bartered for, it’s best not to trust anyone.

Unlike most cautionary tales, Pandora’s box doesn’t end on a downer. Yes, Pandora’s curiosity got the better of her, and yes, she released all the evils of the world, but despite the horrors she unleashed, the parable ends with mankind gaining the Spirit of Hope.

And that’s precisely how you feel at the end. Hopeful. It’s an emotional onomatopoeia. This, of course, doesn’t change the fact that opening the box was by any objective measurement a shitty thing to do. If Pandora had a do over, she would be a fool not to exercise it, even at the risk of losing hope. Which, if you think about it, is hardly a risk at all. In a utopia, hope is an unthinkable concept. If you have everything, there’s no need to worry about anything. In a just and moral universe, you don’t hope for the best, you get what you deserve.

Hope isn’t a cure for the evils of the world. It’s a symptom.

Melea Entius believes the Divines have a plan for Henrietta. It’s how she makes sense of her impending death and the loss of Indara’s daughter. It’s the only explanation that will suffice, because the alternative – that the world can be a cruel and unjust place – would mean she could never die in peace.

When it comes to Henrietta’s future, Melea doesn’t cling to hope. Not when she has faith.

Unlike hope, faith isn’t a byproduct of despair. If you believe in a divine, infallible architect, what you’re saying is that the “evils of the world” are more or less intended as opposed to an accident. It could be a test of one’s character or resolve, or something so abstruse we can’t comprehend the reasons. Regardless, the belief is that whatever the methodology, those who abide by the plan will be rewarded. Fulfilling one’s hopes is often about taking control. Maintaining one’s faith is about sacrificing it.

This is conflicting for Melea. Her anxiety has shifted from being separated from her daughter in a physical sense – which she now accepts – to losing her identity as Henrietta’s mother. As the years pass on, it’s possible the young child may not remember much of her biological parents. It may even be the will of the Divines that she forget. While Melea knows giving the child away is the right thing to do, she realizes that the more influential Indara is, the less Henrietta will remember her, and struggles with the notion that these feelings are inherently selfish.

Melea has faith that Indara will be a good mother – but in thirty years, will Henrietta feel the same about her biological one? She can only hope.