Witch's Marsh Death doesn't let you say goodbye

His breath caught in his throat. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t how this conversation was supposed to go. There were no forgiving words, or apologies. She spoke of comfort and the will to keep going, the notion that they would see each other again someday. But she never forgave him, nor did she apologize. This phantom before him was new, a different agony in a familiar silhouette.

The air was displaced as she came closer, and her delicate, confusing words struck a cord. His heart rammed against his chest, he was sure she could hear it. Slowly he opened his green orbs, gazing at the woman hovering before him. It was almost as if she were real.

Perhaps his demons were thinking of new ways to torture him, to manipulate him. Giving him a false sense of safety and security, because he was sure she was real. Closing he distance, and pushing away his fears, he had to feel her. To know that she was there. “Nanook?” He whispered gently, afraid to break the moment. “Are you—are you really—” He choked on the word, to afraid to say complete his sentence.