His mind was racing. Veron. Veron saw. It wasn't Myra. It was Veron. Veron, Veron, Veron.

When he had cut himself earlier, Dagon thought he was being visited by Myra Blacktyde, her kind eyes and pity still resonating. But it wasn't her. Of course it wasn't her. Why would it be?

Only kindness, only pity, only to get rid of you.

His eyes were darting from side to side. In the shadows. They're watching me. I know they are. A thousand different eyes all watching him.

Shadows. Shadows in the distance. Two silhouettes, two great ghouls ones to drag him away. My wife is back, she has come back from the Drowned Gods halls to strike me down.

You would deserve it.

Except it wasn't. The closer the figures came, the better he recognized them. Oh no. Oh no... his chest pounded.

Oh yes the hallucination grinned with wicked glee, taking the form of Myra Blacktyde.

"Stark" a voice rasped from the darkness, stepping into the light. In the filth, stood Dagon, though taller than Yssa, he felt small before her. (Though he felt small against everyone.) Edwyns tall stature did not help.

"Yssa" he muttered. "A pleasant night..."

Ask her to kill you the image of Myra Blacktyde walked up to Sunderly and weaved her hands through her hair, though the woman of flesh and blood would never feel a thing.