“Because I saw the god the mirror belonged to or- or represented. I heard it’s name in the winds— Sannleikr. And when I woke up, the dead were walking and I am being haunted again.” Her voice is strained, the words bitten out sharp and harsh. “She sits at the edges of everything and she does not go away. She haunts my dreams and she stalks me in the shadows of my waking hours. It keeps using her against me- I… cannot… escape her,” she hopes he does not need any further clarification for who the ‘she’ that she is referring to is.

He doesn’t have to spell it out for her. She puts it together in an instant. “You’re not eating…” how could she blame him? She couldn’t eat either if everything tasted of ash and death on her tongue. How long could he survive with nothing, while this world tried to bring them all to ruins? All of her concern wells up and crosses over the features of her face, but she wills it to stay there, refuses to let it spill any further.

Grateful for the turn in the conversation, she breathes out a low, quiet breath and nods. “Yes, it- it’s my parents’ wagon.” Of course it was. How could she construct it so well otherwise? Every inch of this place is her past, perfectly preserved.