Sometimes I like to whittle the world down to a set of attribute points. I’m drinking coffee over tea this morning for the +2 constitution. I’m wearing sneakers over skate shoes for the +1 speed, and the jacket for the +7 style. In most cases, especially when it comes to fashion, whatever enchantments you’re wearing are an expression of self. The clothes don’t give you style. It’s your style that picks the clothes. For better or for worse, when you dress, you’re trying to be you.

The same logic doesn’t apply to something like a hairpiece. Even though it’s fundamentally an article of clothing, like a hat made out of human fur, wearing one is perceived as being fake. You’re not being yourself. You’re hiding who you are.

I wonder if people in Skyrim wear speechcraft amulets to parties. I wonder if partygoers roll their eyes if some douchebard is trying to make moves with what is clearly an Amulet of Dibella around his neck. Perhaps this douchebard tries to conceal it by wearing enchanted rings, or painting his amulet black to hide the glow.  Or maybe in the world of Elder Scrolls, it’s simply part of the standard rules of engagement, like makeup, hair gel, and cologne. Maybe it’s like an Italian sports car, and the fact that some dude can afford a +30 speechcraft amulet overrides the fact that he’s literally compensating.

Still, I don’t think such behavior would go unnoticed in your average sewing circle. Unless the reason is purely medical, I can’t imagine people wearing performance enhancers in plain sight and not being the subject of ridicule. In a world with magical amulets and face surgeons, identity doesn’t have to be static, but changing it still has to be weird.

All of this is to say, I don’t know if anyone knows the real Beatrice. It’s possible the amulet she wears allows her to express who she really is. You could make an argument that poorly educated people have their identities forced on them like male pattern baldness, and hair plugs and speechcraft necklaces level the playing field.  Still, there’s a difference between who she was supposed to be and who she is. And as language is the basis for exposing yourself to new thoughts, revelations, and ideas, it’s not absurd to suggest wearing such an amulet can alter your very makeup. When Beatrice reads a book, I imagine it’s like reading a webpage translated from French. I haven’t learned a word of the language, but the knowledge is still conveyed. Yet for someone of her background, if she did manage to maintain the knowledge, it would happen in a way so sudden and drastic that it would almost seem unreal.

So when it comes to Beatrice’s identity, there really isn’t a definitive answer. Yet despite all her changes, real and artificial, there is one thing that has been a constant in her life.  Whether she was loquacious or unintelligible, the girl has always loved skooma.

Beatrice could someday lose her amulet, and the effects will be unpredictable. It’s possible she’ll transform into a less articulate version of herself.  She could retain some of her previous knowledge, or become a completely different person. And yet, regardless of what does or doesn’t happen, one thing is for certain. When she has that sweet, sweet bottle of refreshment in her hand, you know exactly who she is, and it’s hard to picture her as anyone else.