"The Hallowed Dream, Inky," Bethany winked at Marie, "is the truth behind the lie of flesh. That's how I know Tim is a good boy." She turned back to Dim Cassilda, "He certainly has taken a shine to you."

Marie blinked. The world moved slowly, as if it was submerged in water. Sweet, dark tang of blackberries whispered to her, and she knew that her boy was still in the bog. A thistle purple light flickered over Bethany. "Hallowed Dream," she repeated, for it hid at the edges of her memory.

"Yes, don't you remember," her tone became matronly, "it is the Sight. You'll be able to see the truth."

"Oh," she replied, and recalled this moment. It was the first time she had realized that her mother might be crazy. The insanity she fled, but had found her, a curse of Blood.

Bethany turned back to her, "The truth may be scary, and Honey, it don't need your approval, or have to fit your sensibilities."

"Mom," Marie felt tears spill, though this was a dream, "I love you, and I'm sorry."

"Oh, I don't know why you're so concerned with the Van Lear," she said. The memory seemed contented to play out. Bethany stopped, "One day, they'll bring themselves to ruin. Do you want to know what is up there, among the fancy walls?" she turned, but purple light were embers in her eyes.

Marie saw the house burn away like parchment set ablaze. It fell away to ash. Rain beat against her, each stung her arms. An odd smell crawled up from a crack that split the entire property. Half of the slave quarters had broken, iron spikes now dust. Murmurs dived from the broken houses, and shadows stepped out into the storm. Low, oily air floated up to thicken the air. They moved among the roses, colonnades, and statues. These shades gazed upon the grounds of the plantation house; move closer to the source of their ire.

At a window, Diana stood. Icy composure had fractured, and she looked out on the houses. She searched the shadows, which hid between each flash of lightning. A hand to her chest, something stirred among the echoes, though it remained unseen. Somewhere in the palatial estate Henry called in search of Jacob, yet she already knew. Alice was also gone. Diana's eyes shifted to Marie, control slipped. Madness, barely leashed, lingered in the cold gaze.

Marie felt the vision grow far away. Strong arms held her. The old, familiar scent of Tim drew in with every inhalation. Although the vision had departed, the dark shroud over the world persisted. A hand slipped over her mouth, and he cautioned silence. His face floated above hers, but eyes searched the bog.

The Hallow Dream opened the world. Marie tried to will it away, but the truth would be denied no longer. Ashless Hollow and the Veil bleed together. All of Hemlock Hurst's sins had been swallowed by the earth, which had vomited them forth. Victims of murder, overdose, and neglect meandered through the woods. Lost to tragedy, they sought justice and retribution. Rain fell in a steady drum, but the fog rose. Beam of light pierced the canopy above to be dashed upon the dark water of Blackberry Bog. It had already claimed Jacob up to the waist. The rope kept him from going under. Bushes full of thorns and ripe berries rustled in the sudden gusts that swept the lowland. Crows, dark as the night, croaked out hateful curses to the bedlam of shades below.

Tim set Marie down, but cautioned her again to be silent. A heavy tread through the muck was wet. Each step had to be pulled free of the earth that sucked at the legs. They pushed through the blackberry briars, though the thorns tore at the fabric of an expensive suit. Ashless Hollow had stripped away the finery, and left Barnett a savage, filthy beast.

Marie gasped at the dirty visage. The Hallow Dream persisted. About the hulking figure of Barnett a shroud clung, dark as the deepest pit in hell. It clung to him, excited by his malice. His gaze roamed about like an old wolf, which had gone mad with hunger, yet still held a cruel cunning. Somewhere in the bog, the man's shoes had been claimed, along with the hat. The jacket had been torn asunder. Someone always felt the rage of such a fellow.

The silvery threads that coursed through the land trembled around Barnett. His very presence caused the shadows to recoil in disgusted fear, Marie saw. Motes, fine as pearls, flew on threads like spider silk. They drew away from him and the deathly veil. Shadows followed him, raged against the man. The Veil was thin in Ashless Hollow, but it fractured now. More shades rose from the earth, echoes of Barnett's sins.

He stood at the edge of the dark water, "Well, the young, wayward prince is no more." Barnett's smile was wide, stumpy teeth flashed. The heir to the Van Lear fortune had always been weak, in his opinion. Jacob wanted to keep the town's industry, and let the reins of power go to the people. Hillbillies and junkies, he mused, was all that filled the town of Hemlock Hurst. At least Alice knew their true value.

Tim held the shotgun, raised it to Barnett's back. Diana's hard case grew still like a wolf that senses danger but sees nothing. He lowered the gun, though he knew the man would never show such hesitation. Marie watched, but already knew Tim could never shoot another in the back, even Barnett. They crawled deeper in the briars, as he looked around. After a moment, he looked at Jacob, and away from Tim and Marie.

The Dark water burbled, and bubbles ascend to its surface. A maelstrom opened, which swallowed Jacob down in the darkness. Barnett stepped back. Mud and bones flowed downward, as to devour the dead. He had put a lot of them there. The thought elicited a smile from his stony countenance.