Was it a dream? It must've been a dream.

I tucked my knees against my chest and buried my face against them. I let out a choked sob of relief. I was still alive. I was still alive. It had just been a horrible nightmare.

I looked to my right—the cemetery. If it was a dream, I hadn't imagined that much. Fog still snaked through the brush, winding its way over grave markers and crumbling sarcophagi like a grim and ghostly serpent. Maybe something in the fog—something that invoked hallucinations and mad dreams in the sufferers. I looked to my left.

It had not been a dream.

A bloodstain, grim and fresh, was splattered in the shallow water just beyond the leaf-strewn dirt. That was where I'd been standing when... I touched my throat again and felt my eyes widen. Above the blood, a gently-glowing ember of emerald, calling to me. I did not know what it was, but I knew it was somehow connected to me, somehow mine.

If it wasn't a dream...

That murderer—my murderer—was still out there, just beyond the edge of my vision. Blocking the only way out of the cemetery.

I need a weapon.

I shot up to a stand and searched with purpose for something, anything, that might serve my need.