They began slowly sifting through the ruins of the village. Each building, each home, from fractured floorboards to upturned tables, telling a slightly different tale from the one prior, and yet without fail ending always the same way.
The sky had tinged to a brighter white, and Eshwlyn could see the tips of her fingers frosted over, completely numbed to any sensation, her fractal reflections in the crystal surfaces showed her nose inflamed to a deep red, —yet onward, persisting—she followed Wilvur into another building, hearing his deep imposing echoes carry through the many empty rooms within.
"Remelda! You may unveil yourself! Do not make things difficult for the both of us, if you could," then creaking rickety steps, Wilvur ascended onto the second floor where Eshwlyn promptly heard him make an audible groan and sigh. "Bodies. Mother and child. Slices to the throat… quick, painless… I see at the very least you were willing to offer this mercy, meager as it be…"
