The Bracken Woods disappear from everyone i hold so close to me

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He couldn't stop. Even as he felt the fight leave Runion, he sought to tear deeper into the flesh, teeth working cruelly through various soft tissues — he didn't want to think about it. It registered, at some point, that he was holding his brother by the throat. Right as he felt something loosen, and with one last fierce toss of his head, came away with his prize —

The air fills with the thick, choking scent of rot, and between his teeth the flesh softens and turns rancid. His grasp loosens, followed a moment later by a sickening fleshy thud against the forest floor. His eyes snap open — both of them, clear and bright and golden as they've always been; he's uninjured, and he knows something is wrong. Orange eyes, burning through his chest like twin flames — orange, until they darken and shrivel and liquefy and pour from their sockets. His throat tightens, gorge rising, and his horror forces itself from his mouth in the shape of a word —
Eris, He chokes on her name, and the skull collapses in on itself, stark bone fragment peering through oozing dark rot. It's not fair — it's all wrong, it shouldn't be her. Why? The word slips out like an afterthought, barely a breath on the breeze, and the air chills around him.
Because we're cursed, baby boy, His sister's head croaks, splitting into a bloody, too-wide grin, and the pieces of her skull shift from where they've collapsed inward, blooming quickly like a grisly flower. The voice comes wetly garbled this time, mocking and venomous: Or are we the curse?
No, no, no — You killed her, you killed her, you killed her, you killed her, you killed her you killed her you killed her you killed her YOU KILLED HER YOU KILLED HER YOU KILLED HER YOU KILLED HER YOU KILLED HER YOU KILLED HER YOU —

It's not real. It's not real.
His limbs move almost before his eyes flutter open, shooting straight out and curving around something cold, something hard and unforgiving like stone. He pulls it close to his body, feeling its coolness against his chest fur, and shifts a little. His back stings, his neck stings — where is Ulf?
But it doesn't matter, really. He's alive, he's alive and he never killed Eris (at least not directly) and the past will stay where it belongs. Except... his forelegs tighten instinctively around the skull, horror washing over him as it registers fully. In a moment he's on his feet, violently emptying the scant contents of his stomach a few feet from where he'd flung the skull in his haste. His head pounds, and his eyes ache even as the heaving subsides. He closes them, breathing slowly, and all he can do is exist for a moment.