It must be the exhaustion playing tricks, right? Splashing her face with water and staring into the mirror, they demanded, "What's happening?" The figure in the mirror crept away from their frustration tilting its head slowly, a sly smirk spreading across its face.

Clutching her sword, she knew she couldn't endure. The howling wind drowned all sound; visibility was nearly gone. Then, on instinct, her weary body moved with practiced precision. Her blade flashed through the swirling snow. The storm calmed, leaving her alone, chest heaving as the world stilled.

Until today, I’ve never been more curious as a blue whisper of a person stopped in their tracks, their face frozen in fear, staring into the distance. I've never thought much of them before. But now, I find myself pausing, turning to see what they might be looking at.

Their voice cut through the silence, each word like a breath that kept my heart beating. "You are forgotten. You are lost." The words lingered, heavy as stone, filling the air between us. "Will you offer the guidance you were denied?"

He's so close; every detail is sharp.
"Welcome back," he says softly.
I attempt to move, but nothing happens. My arms, my legs—they won't respond. I try to speak, but no sound comes out. My eyes dart around, but all I see is the ceiling above. Why can't I move? What's happening?

His eyes were wide and hollow as he stared past his hands—blackened with scabs and blood, with rot crawling up his arms like dark veins. A faint light emanated from his palm where the sigil of healing pulsed with a haunting pride. What had he lost to complete it?