They say the dead never die…
Damon never believed that. After all, all who died never returned—at least as far as he knew. That was why even seeing Carmen Vale right in front of him… despite the shock of it all, like seeing an old haunt…
He still knew this wasn't real. It was just an illusion conjured by the marsh. It wanted to breed doubt in his heart… it wanted him to make noise… to break the silence of the marsh with its ghost.
Why else would it bring out the memory of the kind hunter?
His beard and face still looked the same as Damon remembered. The old man still just as well-built, wearing the same worn hunting gear from that day… the day they met… the day Damon killed him.
Damon lowered his head…
Carmen smiled. "Why can't you look at me, little fella… are you feeling guilty…?"
Damon bit his lips and continued walking forward… surrounded by glowing moss… his party right behind him. They didn't seem to see the kind hunter.
