singillatim | I'm allied to the winter

I'm allied to the winter

JULY 2025 EVENT

PROMPT ONE: BURIED ECHOES: The green fog from fissures that had begun to appear last month takes on a new form of attack, and Interlopers find themselves forced to share their greatest betrayals and deepest shames.

PROMPT TWO: ADURERE: The Interlopers are not the only ones caught in the current machinations, and return to Milton House once more.

PROMPT THREE — TERRITORY: Interlopers who venture out to the Last Resort Cannery come face to face with the Timberwolf packs who have claimed the place as their own — high risk, high reward.

BURIED ECHOES

WHEN: The Month of July
WHERE: Everywhere.
CONTENT WARNINGS: atmospheric changes; mild mental manipulation; memory sharing.

In June, a green fog began to curl upwards from fissures dotted around the Northern Territories — warping Interlopers into frenzies of rage or fear. These afflictions have ended up easing as the month turns over into July but the vapours themselves don’t dissipate. At first, they begin the mingle in the air, like a drop of ink in water — causing a green hue to taint the atmosphere. When one looks around, it's almost like the faint sepia tone that obscures the lens of daylight at sunset some days. The skies feel darker, the days are dull, and green.

There’s a distinct tingle of fear in the air. Something low rumbling — a constant drone in the background.

The reach of these green vapours extend even further as the month goes on. The fogs will grow thicker in places and at times will extend to filling huge spaces of areas quickly and silently. You could be out in the wilds, travelling alone the tracks in Lakeside, or making your way down the Coastal Highway when the fog drifts in.

It doesn’t take long before it encompasses you entirely.

With it, the skies darken further. The world turns to night, lit by the eerie green, and everything feels empty and fraught. For plenty of Interlopers, this is a familiar experience, and a sensation of fear washes over you. Or most of you.

You hear whispers in the fog: a chorus of frightened voices chittering nervously. And then out of that chorus comes a voice that is old and terrible.

She binds me, but she cannot banish me. I am coming for you, Interloper. You cannot be rid of me. The Darkwalker, you realise. It is reaching out to you within the fog.

The Yawning Grave has been opened, and I am so very hungry. One way, or another — I am coming for you. I will break you, consume you. You will go into the Dark.

The Darkwalker has its ways of coming for Interlopers, that is well known by now. The fog shifts and swirls around you. As you watch it, familiar shapes begin to form — a room, a place. Somewhere familiar to you, but it doesn’t fill you with comfort. You remember this place, and you find yourself within a moment of your history. It is not a fond moment.

The memory that forms around you and begins to play out is a memory of your greatest betrayal, your deepest regret. The thing that brings you the most shame. You and your companion will witness this — and there's no escaping this.

The Darkwalker has ways of coming for Interlopers, yes. It has ways of trying to break you down. Your deepest fears and insecurities, showing you for what you truly are; isolating you from the world around you, finding ways to lead you into the Dark. You are the Interloper, after all. You are not part of nature’s design. One way or another, it will break you down and put an end to you. To pull you apart. Now it seeks to show who you truly are to others — a moment where you find yourself at your worst.

Bonds between Interlopers are strong, but are all secrets revealed to the ones you’ve come to know and trust? Do you still have skeletons in your closet? A moment you have tried so desperately to keep buried and hidden from those around you?

No more. The question is whether the people you’ve come to know and trust will be able to look at you the same way again.

ADURERE

WHEN: Late July.
WHERE: Milton House… ?
CONTENT WARNINGS: fire; house fire; death of a child/children; hauntings; illusions of burning/being burned; potential injuries via falling/unstable building collapsing; dead bodies; gore/blood/maimed bodies; body horror; eye-related trauma/horror.

You wake up in a bed that is not yours. The air is still and cold, and for a moment everything is calm. It is night time. You are not the only one who wakes up with you, another Interloper has found themselves sharing the bed with you — maybe it’s someone you know, maybe it’s an Interloper you’ve yet to meet. But you’re in a strange home you don’t recognise, and you’re not sure what’s happened.

You have a little time to get your bearings, at least — to explore the room itself. The furniture is a little more refined from what you’ve come to know in Milton: well-made and old. The master bedroom is that of a husband and wife. There are family photos on one of the dressers: a wedding photo of a happy bride and groom in the late 1970s or early 1980s; a photo of two small boys stood in Milton Basin, holding up freshly-caught fish; a photo of a sad young girl on a tree swing.

Interlopers who have been in the Northern Territories for some time will come to realise that the family in these photos is the Barker family. The young girl is Enola. You have found yourselves within Milton House, before the fire.

If you had turned on a light to explore, power goes out. There is smoke in the air.

You hear the crackle of flames from beyond the bedroom door. Opening it into the corridor will reveal a fiery inferno, and the distant screams of children.

But there’s something different about this place, just as there has been last time. Even with the blaze, the home does not look at is should. While it looks like the burning, ruined insides of Milton House, it feels more like a maze than anything. The walls warp around you and at sudden moments, tree branches will break and jut out from the walls, burning and snapping and falling before you.

Together, you must work to escape the burning home. Getting out of this place will be far more difficult than those who found themselves in this place well over a year ago. Turning down the corridor in search of the stairs brings only more corridors, opening doors to bedrooms in search of a window will bring you to more corridors, too.

Persist, and you’ll find the stairs eventually. And like last time, the heat and smoke feel real and may even cause you pain but the flames won’t actually burn you. Whatever this is, as real as it feels, there’s some kind of illusion to all of this just as it had done before.

But what didn’t happen before is the sight that greets you as you finally head downstairs.

In the ruined mess of the blazing inferno that is the living room, bodies litter the floor. They pile on top of one another, covering every inch of floor, slumped against the walls. There must be some seventy or more bodies here. Some are harder to look at than others: some are coated in blood and wounds, some caused by animals, some by humans; some lie in crumpled, contorted messes; some are half-frozen; some are barely recognisable.

Looking at these bodies, as difficult as it may be, will bring the awful realisation: these are the bodies of Interlopers who have died within the Northern Territories. Some you recognise, people you knew only too well. Interlopers who have died at the hands of the Darkwalker, of Mother Nature itself, of other Interlopers; each of them appearing just as they had died in this place.

What’s more: scattered in amongst these bodies are the bodies of the Barker family: Thomas and his sons — half-charred and blackened by the smoke and flame.

In amongst this carnage, there’s a figure kneeling on the floor. A woman, dressed in furs, her hands covering her face. Some may recognise her as Enola, and you realise: this is Enola’s deepest regret. What brings her the most shame, her greatest betrayal.

Interlopers may choose to leave, if they wish. Making a break for a window or a door will bring them out into the snow and the world will snap to normal — you find yourselves outside Milton House, green fog swirling around you and fading with a low echo of laughter: the Darkwalker.

But others may choose to go to Enola, to try and help her, to try and end this memory of hers.

Enola feels real when you touch her. Managing to pull her hands away, you’ll realise something is very wrong. Even more wrong than all of this. Those who have seen her before in dreams, or when she appeared to Interlopers in June last year will note that she appears very different. Enola looks gaunt, exhausted — and more frightening: her left side of her face is black and withered, her eye absent from the socket.

It’s hard to say what’s happened to her, but Interlopers may draw their own conclusions and suspicions.

“It’s my fault.” she’ll whisper. “It’s all my fault, it’s all my fault. I caused it.”

Enola seems almost catatonic, and cannot seem to engage with Interlopers at first. She will rock slightly as she kneels, her one blue eye staring into nothing, her expression wounded.

“It’s my fault, it’s my fault— I couldn’t.. I couldn’t make it stop.” she continued. “I didn’t mean it, I— I tried, I tried so hard to stop it— I never meant for it, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

The house groans and shudders around you. Enola will look up, tears streaming down her face.

“I didn’t mean for this. I didn’t mean it.”

Speaking to Enola softly, offering words of encouragement or comfort will slowly begin to calm her down. It will take some time to calm her in this terrible place, but she will respond to it. She seems almost child-like: cowed and broken and small. She looks so tired.

“They were meant to be home.” she tells you. “And I ruined it.”

When Interlopers have calmed her down enough, she’ll finally look at you, like she finally sees you again. For the first time in this moment, she sees you in a way that’s hard to put into words. She reaches for your face, your chest, touches you gently — her expression is so sad, quietly crushed by the care from you.

“I’m sorry.”

In a blink, everything snaps to normal. No bodies, no flames. No Enola. Just the rotted insides of a broken, ruined home — curls of green smoke drifting upwards, out through the cracks of the walls.

TERRITORY

WHEN: The Month of July.
WHERE: Last Resort Cannery, The Coast.
CONTENT WARNINGS: themes of survival; gore; human remains; (wild) animal attacks, altered wildlife, possible character injury/death, possible (wild) animal injury/death.

Moving towards the south east from the village of Silverpoint will bring Interlopers along the cracked and crumbling road that loads to Last Resort Cannery: a complex of several warehouses and workshops, and has long since fallen into disrepair. Most of its staff were employed by the village of Silverpoint, and with some even coming from Milton to work — but economic decline has seen the company fall into hard times.

Murmurings from around the village will have Interlopers discovering that there may be some leftover stock that is still usable, such as canned goods, but the villagers have found it incredibly difficult to scavenge there, due to the increase in hostile wildlife. Many villagers that have attempted to travel there have never returned, and those who have, have returned maimed, injured, often dying due to their injuries — and Silverpoint residents have often persuaded Interlopers not to go there.

Interlopers, however, are made of sturdier stuff these days, and maybe it’s worth checking the place out in hopes of finding some useful loot.

The Cannery itself sits right along the coastline, and incredibly bitter and open — much like most of the Coast’s area. As Interlopers head closer, they will soon discover exactly what the villagers spoke of: the frozen, grisly and often skeletal remains of those who have tried to venture forth scattered around the area, torn backpacks and clothing — as if the bodies have been consumed by animals.

Not even Jace has been out here to scavenge, either out of safety, or respect for the dead.

Most of the buildings are open to the elements, having been hit hard by the extreme weather — and provide little in the way of shelter. But not all of them are so open. There are some buildings that will provide ample shelter: warehouses and factory floors, even some small staff breakroom quarters. There are even spaces where it appears that some of the workers even lived on site, with bunk beds and shower facilities.

There will, indeed, be crates filled with canned goods that remain in relatively good condition: mostly canned sardines, tuna and salmon. Interlopers may find seafood soups, too. But there’s an overall theme: the Cannery is a processing place of fish and seafood, after all. However, that is not everything that is housed within the Cannery’s site. Explorers will be able to find heavy but durable work clothes and boots, along with survival tools and equipment that belonged to workers. There are workshops that could be used during the Aurora — which can be used to repair tools and… interestingly: craft ammunition.

A spray painted wall reads: THEY HATE THE LIGHT. Another reads: LOUD NOISES = GOOD FOR SCARES. Another, more ominously: THIS PLACE WANTS US ALL DEAD.

Why would such a plan require a workshop in order to craft ammunition? It might have something to do with the culprits behind the grisly finds Interlopers have come across in their approach to the Cannery itself: the packs of Timberwolves that have made their home here and often prowl the area. And soon enough, they will come running.

A lone howl on the wind, carried on the air. More joining the first. Then, the demonic chittering and growling as one of the packs descend upon the Interlopers. Fortunately, these timberwolves are not quite like the wolves faced by Interlopers right at the very start of their time in the Northern Territories — but they are still altered in terms of the Aurora: smarter, and far more aggressive that wolves have ever been known to be.

They do function in a similar manner, at least. Pack morale is important, and breaking that morale can send them back. If they’re broken, their morale is depleted. Fire is your biggest friend: torches, campfires and flares will keep them mostly at bay and only the bravest of these packs may attack. Striking them with flares or flames will actually send them into brief retreats. Bullets and arrows are effective with both noise and injuring the wolves, and although hitting one will be difficult due their speed, it’s possible. Killing one of these wolves will dissolve the pack’s morale entirely, and the rest will flee.

And at least then, for a while, you might be able to scavenge in peace — and make it out alive.

FAQs

BURIED ECHOES

1. The memories cannot be interacted with in any way.

2. Interlopers with Darkwalker’s Revenge will feel slightly revitalised in general during the month of July and be extra revitalised during these heavy fog instances. They will feel fit, hale and alert — probably the best they’ve ever felt in a long time due to the polar sun.

3. Memories can be from a character's future in their canon, not just their past.

ADURERE

1. All Interlopers who have died in game can be found within this prompt. This will also confirm the deaths of Interlopers who have been missing but never confirmed dead and also confirm Interlopers who have simply gone home. You can check out the Interloper Masterlist for further details.

2. Interacting with Enola is optional. Interlopers may choose to simply escape house and the memory.

3. Interlopers have limited interaction with the memory. They can look at things, or even touch the dead down in the living room, but not remove anything from the house.

4. Characters will not be physically burned in the fire, but only feel as if they have been. The effects of this illusion will last a short time after they're out the house before they will fade.

5. The only real injuries characters can sustain will be from fall damage, or if the floor gives way and their feet go through, etc. whilst in the house.

6. Please see the January 2024 Event Prompt ‘Adust’, or the Areas Page, or the October 2024 Mini Event under the February 1994 for further information/context.

7. Interlopers who are in Milton will find themselves in Milton House when the memory/illusion ends. Interlopers in other areas of the world will find themselves in a random, rundown/dilapitated home found in that area.

TERRITORY

1. You do not have to kill a Timberwolf to scare off the pack, simply defeating the pack's morale with noise and flame is sufficient to scare them off for several hours.

2. Timberwolf packs typically range from three to seven wolves.

PLOTTING POST

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Edward's immediately grateful that his mysterious new companion agrees to the plan — whomever the poor girl is, whatever tragedy has happened to her, are all questions that must be swallowed down for the urgent moment. He must ensure her safety from this place that he knows from direct experience to be very unsafe.

He's moving quickly to follow her when the girl's head snaps back to him and Edward freezes in place, senses perceiving it just seconds after she voices the question. With it, a fresh sweep of horror that chills him to the bone. His eyes widen as he indeed smells the distinctive scent, and once again, there's a certain recognition in his horror.

No... Edward rushes forwards to try and urge the girl back, gloved hands shaking when they make contact with her shoulders. God, if this is happening again—

"Quickly, miss! Get behind me!"

Her eye looks at his hand on her shoulder and it does not take much more convincing than that. He's been nervous and practically frightened since he awoke and whatever puzzle piece she's missing, he gets it. She steps behind him as asked, another step more if she can. "You said this house burned to the ground" Her eye glances back to the photos. There's dread between the harsh consonants she speaks. "Did they.. did any of them survive?" What are their chances, if any?

Edward tenses, body language shifting to something guarded, keeping one arm protectively up as though to shield the younger. His heart's pounding so fast in dread of what he thinks might be coming that he feels ill from it, but there is someone he needs to protect.

Though he's loathe to tell the young woman such horrors, and he hangs his head mournfully for a moment. "It pains my heart to divulge such gruesome truths to you, miss, but... there were none."

...And he barely survived last time, either. The man stiffens again, and lifts his other hand towards the doorknob. He can feel the heat coming from it now. Quickly, he's pulling off his greatcoat, and turns to hand it to her.

"Please, put this over your head. When this door is opened, I fear we will be in danger for our lives, but I will lead you to safety!"

There's a grimace that her warped face emphasizes in deeper lines, grooves and dread, even as she takes the greatcoat from him. No survivors. Are they reliving someone else's past? What is this place to even create such nightmares if it is one at all?

Settling the coat over her head, she still has the audacity to argue. "What about you?"

Edward's half turning back towards the door when the question comes and he's glancing back over his shoulder, surprised.

"Please, worry not for me. I have faced such a trial in this place before."

...Granted, last time he practically went into a standing coma and had to be literally pulled through the place by Wynonna Earp. Poor Maelle's knight in shining armour happens to be one highly traumatised Victorian with a freeze response to all of The Horrors.

But this time.. he knows what to expect.

"Will you keep close with me?"

"Yeah, okay." Even if she disagrees with his response, they don't really have time to debate it further as the smoke already threatens the cracks of the door. Whatever extra step she had taken when she was asked to get away from the door, she now huddles closer and pulls the coat about her tighter.

There's a quick, firm nod, and then he's turning back to the door. With one final, steadying breath, he tugs the sleeve of his jumper up over his hand, using it to grab the burning doorknob with and open the door.

It's a rush of heat and smoke. He's rushing out into it before he can let himself be shocked, forcing his focus into leading his young charge to escape. That method might work, initially — he's hurrying out into the corridor, takes a turn, but... something's wrong. The walls twist and turn, and suddenly there are tree branches snapping and falling around them as though they're in a forest instead. Edward gasps as one falls right down before them, ducking to avoid it and scrambling to grab hold of the girl, crouching low to the ground.

"Are you all right?!"

"Yeah, I'm okay. I'm fine." Her usual rasp of a voice is muffled under the coat as she tries to guard some of what's left of her face from the smoke. A cough escapes her but she doesn't let it slow her down.

Even with the branches and walls warping, even if it is a dream, she doesn't trust this place to assume it will stay that way. It feels like fire, it feels like smoke and that's more than enough to convince her not to risk staying. She'll tug or push at his arm, whatever direction is left for them to take. "We need to keep moving."

Once he's certain she's unharmed thus far, Edward nods again, arm lifting to shove past a few more branches as he begins to hurry lead them forwards. And for a few moments, that's all it is — a scramble forwards, turning corners and forcing his way through those inexplicable tree branches. Adrenaline keeps him going.

...But as the minutes pass, and neither the smoke nor the labyrinth they seem to be in eases up, he begins to feel some of that familiar panic. (Trapped. He's trapped in a maze of burning tents, and there are men screaming and crying around him. The smell of scorched flesh. So many died that night.)

He can't find the way out. And when he turns another path and finds a dead end, he comes to an abrupt halt, eyes wide, throat heaving, but he can't find breath. He just stands there, staring straight ahead, giving soft gasping sounds.

She pulls at his arm, realizing the dead end and his gasps for air. "Monsieur?" At first, she assumes he's choking, a fish without water or just a fish swimming in fire. But it soon dawns on her that they are instead simply lost and he feels lost.

It's with some earnest that she looks about them instead of blindly following now. An impossible branch hangs over them, coated in flame, the evergreens darkening to browns then blacks, red embers floating down in a glaring warning. No survivors. She is less polite now and instead of gentle pulls she threatens to drag him with her instead. "Snap out of it!"

The branch crackles and cracks, it cries as it falls. She is much smaller but it is with as much might as she can manage that she tries to pull him out of the way of the enflamed tree branch as it crashes toward them from overhead.

He's been here before. So many times, again and again. This— frozen helplessness. (There's a creature, a bear that isn't really a bear, a thing capable of tearing two men apart and piecing them back together again, and there are screams all around him and he can't move; there's a burning nightmare, there's the relentless thudding of his own heart and it's all he can hear, he's going to die—)

It's the harsher response that cuts through Little's numb stun. For a few split seconds he thinks it's Wynonna Earp, the way it was Wynonna Earp once before — grabbing him roughly, holding and pulling and pushing, voice raised sharp enough to get him moving again. He's staggering forwards as the smaller body roughly pushes him, the gesture enough to catch him by surprise, to will him into movement.

Then the loud crack of the branch as the thing falls just where he and Maelle were seconds before, and he's panting for breath as he stares at it, wide-eyed, woolen gloved hands scrambling to grasp the girl again and pull her quickly back further away from the sparking embers.

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry—"

But it's worked to get him out of his stupour, and he's starting to move again, towards another turn this time. Surely they must be nearing the end...

"Just a little further!" He doesn't know if that is true, but even now, his heart has to hold onto the concept of hope. Maybe especially now, the idea kickstarted with his reminder that there is someone here who needs his help.

Part of her knows he's likely not telling the truth. They wouldn't have met a dead end had he known they were only a little further from a way out. If he understood this maze they would have been out by now. But part of her wants to believe him, too. It's always easier to believe what you want to be true.

Now, she keeps her eye on where they go, the turns they take and whatever sense she can make of this place to understand the halls they traverse. If they get stuck again then surely she can help more next time. "It's okay." She says belatedly to the apologies, coughing from the smoke in between syllables. "We're okay."

It's okay. We're okay.

It isn't the first time someone has told him those words, either. And hearing them coming from the girl now... emboldens something in him, even if the horrors of the flame and this impossible labyrinth stir up so many ghosts haunting him.

He can't stop again. He can't... go stagnant, like last time. In one quick motion, Edward reaches for the girl's hand, his own gloved one locked tightly. He's terrified, suddenly, to lose her. This place has its tricks.

His other arm wraps around his face, to try and shield his breathing a bit from the smoke burning his lungs. More tree branches, more twists and turns. When he sees the top of the staircase suddenly, he almost can't believe it.

"There!" And he's nudging her quickly in front of him now to reach safety first, as more fiery branches crack and fall at his back. "I'm just behind you!"

He doesn't know about the bodies piled on the ground floor. Those weren't there last time.

She doesn't take much convincing, though even when she starts down the stairs she's still looking back to check on him. It slows her down but only a little. That is, until she reaches the end of the stairs and she halts altogether, her breath catching in her throat.

"This is--"

All there is is death.

Any step she takes, it would be on what once was a person. An arm, a leg, a face. Something burnt, something bit, something missing with only a pool of blood left behind. She's visibly shaking when she finally finds a spot to place her foot, and then the other. She's not scared, she's mortified. The canvas was kinder, petals or solidified chroma but not... this. She continues to move, even if it's slow, she doesn't let her eye linger on the ground for too long between steps.

"Were these- who were they?"

It takes Edward a few long seconds to notice as he rushes down the stairs, not understanding what's halted the girl.

Then he sees. Bodies, of such a large amount and packed so tightly in that they might be the floor itself. It's a horror he can barely comprehend, and he hears her question as though from far away.

"Miss, you mustn't— don't look—" But it's impossible not to. And as his eyes scan the expanse of decaying flesh, of blood and broken bodies and so many terrors he can hardly grasp them all, he realises he knows most of these corpses, and his voice is a numb whisper. "......These are people who died here."

Two of the figures are easy to pick out, amongst the others. With flesh charred so black, they're barely recognisable as human at all. Edward cries out softly, stumbles as though in danger of falling to his knees right there in the sea of dead things. One of those two burned corpses is missing a hand, and Edward's own pair hover over the figure, helpless.

"No.... Sir—! We buried him...!"

Her throat tightens with his cries and she turns back to him and his grief. All she sees is death but he sees a friend somehow despite how death masks them now. It's precarious, she nearly stumbles but she makes it back to his side. The coat he had given her, she takes it now and sets it over as much of the two bodies as she can. It's not a burial but it's some dignity. She quietly steps over to him and even if it's a hesitant hand, she'll try to set it on the stranger's shoulder.

In all the chaos, she's trying her best to be calm but even the hand she uses to try to steady him is practically shaking. They're still in a burning building. "I'm sorry. We can come back for them." It's strange to be the one trying to push ahead and trying not to have a burning house fall on her head at the same time. Would Lune and Sciel be proud? "We need to keep going." Her voice is a rasping whisper but there's an earnestness behind it.

This place plays its tricks. Edward knows that too well, and in a logical moment would grasp that this can't actually be the dead body of his fallen captain, is some illusion. But faced with Crozier now, all he can see is the horror of it, and it threatens to consume him.

He watches hazily as the girl places his coat over the bodies, feeling that numb sensation again, the one that makes it feel as though all of this is happening to somebody else. He could lose himself in that sensation. But once again, the girl grounds him to reality — before, with a raised voice yanking him out of his fog, and now... with a touch to his shoulder.

He can feel the tremours to her touch, and he's shuddering too, but the touch is real. Edward gives a shaky exhale, blinks up at her — swallows hard, nods. He's getting back up to his feet; he has to stay with her. Has to keep going. So he starts to move again, keeping with her, stepping carefully through the perpetual hoard of corpses. It's horrible, and his stomach curls.

"All of them are.... people who have died in this place," he finally manages to say, voice hoarse and wet in its grief.

Grief is relentless, coming and going in waves. Small things and the wave comes for you to swallow you whole before you even realize you've been swept up in it. If she had seen Gustave or Verso among these dead she would be no better off. But they aren't here and for once she's safe from the waves despite the fires threatening above them.

None of it makes sense. All of these bodies, friends he says he buried, they shouldn't be here. Yet tree branches also shouldn't be in homes. But all of these things are somehow here. "Come on, I think we're close." She says with another gentle tug at his arm.

She continues stepping carefully between the piles of death. There's progress made but only a few steps later she halts entirely. "Is that.. is she alive?" Not far from them a woman has their back turned, looking down amongst the dead in no different a position of mourning as Edward had been a moment before.

The girl is a soft tug at his arm, and Edward follows that touch so willingly, almost loyally, allowing her to guide him through the mass of bodies around them. He sees more glimpses of Interlopers he recognises — some not quite by name, and others.... very much by name. He sees La'an, and Mikel. It would be so easy to lose himself in this horrible place, surrounded by the bodies of the dead, but the girl is there. Alive. He will not leave her.

And then— the question, and he's lifting his heavy head to stare at the figure knelt down like that. Lady Silence, the kneejerk flutter sounds in his mind, but logic corrects him quickly. Not her, but...

"Enola...?" He's slowly moving to her, though keeps one hand at Maelle's arm. "She— She is a part of this place," he whispers hoarsely; it is the only way he knows to describe the enigma that is Enola. It's rare to see her in such close proximity, and sometimes she seems more spirit to him than flesh and bone, but in the here and now, she looks solid and true and alarm flashes through him as he goes to crouch in front of her, lifting his hands to touch the woman's wrists. Her hands cover her eyes, like a child hiding away.

"Miss Enola, we must... you must come with us! It isn't safe here!"

She doesn't entirely understand what he means 'part of this place'. It was her home? It contradicts some of what he said before. No survivors. It's with this in mind that she watches the two of them carefully.

She's not too far from Edward as he approaches Enola. While he tries to hold her wrists, she will keep a small distance, watching both of them. She can already tell the woman is grieving. She probably can't even hear Edward's words, she's more lost than he was just earlier.

The woman is resistant to his touch, and ordinarily Edward would pull back away, but with the house blazing around them, there's no more time to spare for her grieving than his own. With more insistence, his gloved fingers gently but firmly tug Enola's hands away, and then he gasps, soft but horrified.

One side of her face is... ruined, maimed, and with a bare socket. It's so much like the girl beside him that he's shocked in more than one way, staying crouched there and staring at Enola in horror, then slowly tilting his head up to look at the girl, asking her.

"Do you.... Do you know her?"

She doesn't seem to know any of this, but... he has to ask. It's too familiar to be coincidence, isn't it...? Once more, he has to wonder if the girl is some phantom of this place, some figment, connected to it. Enola stares straight ahead for now, the poor woman nearly catatonic, though she'll begin to whisper — 'It's my fault. It's all my fault, it's all my fault. I caused it.'

"N-no, I--" She shakes her head and threatens to take a step back. She is as shocked as Edward by the woman's appearance but she's also aware of how this might look. They could be a mirror to one another and it's disturbing. When Enola speaks, it only solidifies that mirror more. Everything clicks into place, it's hardly any different from her own experience. "She means the fire." It's said in almost a whisper as she looks back, up and around them. The impossible trees, the warping walls, "it's the fog. This is her memory."

What was a threat to step back is now larger step forward, until the gap is closed and her hand is on Enola's shoulder. She crouches beside her. "It's not your fault, it's okay." She says it quietly and carefully. It's hard to say if it's meant to comfort Enola or herself.

He sees the girl tense back for a moment and something in him alarms; there's every urge still pressing to keep her close, not to lose her, and some ever-persistent fear that he will. But then she's moving closer instead, and crouching down too, and what she says makes him pause with realisation.

Her memory. Edward has seen memory of his own played out like this, so real it's unbearable. Is this... truly from Enola's mind? The girl's words seem to reach through to her, and now the woman is looking up, tears running down her cheeks. Edward's heart cracks and splits in two and he stays close, eyes wide.

It's not your fault, it's okay.

As the woman continues her broken confessions — 'I didn’t mean for this; they were meant to be home; I ruined it' — he slowly reaches to take one of her hands and hold on; both he and the girl beside him are now touching the woman, keeping hold of her. And she slowly, slowly, begins to truly react to them, wet eyes clearing enough to look up from one to the other with shuddering breaths. Her hand twitches in Edward's grasp and he lets go, gently, watching as she lifts her hand to touch his arm, his shoulder.

Then, to the girl— Enola slowly reaches to cup the side of her face that hasn't been burned, softly, carefully, thumb brushing against the girl's cheek. She speaks in a hushed whisper. 'I'm sorry.'

There's only a brief exchange from Enola's words to her response of a simple smile before the world around them snaps out of the memory's haze. Enola is gone, the house is gone, the dead are gone. It's a jarring transition that leaves her stepping back and looking around at the burnt remains around them.

"She's gone.." There's disappointment in her voice, but there's not much use to it. She shakes her head slightly, an effort to move on. "Are you okay?" She steps over to Edward, leaning to the side a little to see his face.

Suddenly, everything changes. The heat of flame vanishes, the crackle and snap of splitting wood. The floor of corpses, and Enola herself.

He's seen this abruptness before, but it's never less unsettling, and for a long moment Edward just stays crouched there on the floor, staring widely at the space where the woman just was. It's only when the girl speaks that, once more, he's pulled out of a thick daze and looking up at her. Some part of him is still startled to see that she's still here, that she isn't a part of this ghost dream. But this confirms it: she's real.

"I'm all right," he whispers, and slowly moves to stand, taking in a breath as he sees those whisps of green fog and shudders. The Darkwalker's presence... here, too. "Are you? Are you harmed?"

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cw: mention of fire-related deaths, panic attack associations

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cw: corpses and all the death in between

cw: the corpse chaos continues... burned body

cw: deeeeaaaaaaaaaath

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cw: eye gore / injury

cw: eye gore / injury

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