The dank, musty halls of Apocrypha sprawled out before me: an endless, labyrinthine library, in which was hoarded all the knowledge there ever was, and ever would be. Bookcases stretched from the floor into the sky, impossibly tall, every inch of them filled with dusty tomes and grimoires, but even they could not contain the sheer volume of knowledge festering in this warped realm. Towering heaps of books littered the hallways, stacked so high they were less piles than they were pillars, winding ever upwards to support a ceiling too distant to discern from where I stood. The mere sight of the spires and mountains of literature thrust into the air above me like bizarre skyscrapers was enough to bring on a wave of vertigo so powerful I had to reach for the nearest bookshelf to steady myself.
The world around me seemed to shift and distort on a whim, constantly changing—passages and rooms formed themselves and then collapsed into alcoves as quickly as they had appeared, as if the very structures of this realm were living, breathing things. Indeed, the laws of the physical world seemed more as suggestions in this eldritch space.
"I have been watching you, Mortal. Most interesting."
The voice came from all directions at once, soft yet deafening, and I knew instinctively the name of the Daedra it belonged to: Hermaeus Mora, the Daedric Prince of Knowledge. I looked up to behold a series of holes opening in the sky, black voids of nothingness, tears in the very fabric of space itself, through which curled writhing tentacles which bore countless eyes. Directly in front of me, a larger void opened to reveal a single massive eye, ringed with twitching feelers, an eye that stared into my own with a monstrous black pupil shaped like a sideways 8. The Daedra's gaze was as infinite as it's library: a cold, emotionless glare, unblinking and horrifying. I suddenly knew what it was to be an ant, looking up at an ogre, praying the beast chose not to take a step lest it crush me underfoot without a second thought.
"Come closer, Mortal. Bask in my presence."
Mora's voice shifted and transformed in impossible ways, at once the voice of a wise old man and an innocent child. There was no lasting timbre, no tone: it was a voice that was ever unrecognizable as the one it had been mere moments ago, freely flowing devoid of rhyme or reason, sense or sanity.
"L-lord Mora..." I gasped out, awestruck in the Deadra's presence, and its voice let out a strange grinding noise—a giggle, or what passed for one.
"Lord? You mortals are so naive." Mora spoke, in a voice that sounded simultaneously like rocks grinding against one another and a babbling brook flowing through a forest. "Do you not know? We Daedra can manifest as we wish. Behold."
Before me, the inky-black tendrils and unblinking eyes that made up Hermaeus Mora's body began to distort and shift, running together like water, coalescing into something just as alien and yet far more familiar. Tentacles wrapped around one another and merged together, forming into a squirming mass that slowly resolved itself into a shape as beautiful as it was horrifying.
The Daedra now stood before me in the form of a woman, unabashedly naked and unashamed. Her skin was the same inky black as Mora's tentacles had been, and likewise bore countless eyes that swam across her flesh as if it were water. To call her voluptuous would be an understatement: her breasts, hips, and buttocks were so exaggerated they could only be described as obscene.