Bogdan saw the postcard on the counter and, if he could, he would have sighed… he remembered the vacation he and Cristina took to Quiet Hill. What fun they had!
The mist covered, ash laden streets! The friends they made! He looked back fondly at the guy with the giant helmet… he never took it off. Bogdan found that amusing. The parties with the Order! So debauched and insane.
He longed, above all, for those moonlit nights with her, sharing drinks on the shore of Metepec Lake, the promise of love eternal.
Now she was gone.
Bogdan packed his trunk and, resolutely, made for Quiet Hill.
Nothing, nothing could have prepared him for the horrors he saw…
Colorful hotels, tourist traps, rather, filled with smiling humans, no trace of the mist or the ashes. Where had their friends gone? Where had she gone? They were all driven away by the tourists! Quiet Hill had become a popular vacation spot. He did not venture outside his cabin: the bright, cheerful sun would have fried him in an instant; instead he sat on the edge of his coffin, crying tears of blood and longing for the old, lovely, Quiet Hill.
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