Lucatiel sat by the bonfire, feeling what was left of her slipping away. The curse slowly made its victims remember less and less over time, Lucatiel knew that. But she had to remember. She had to. For her brother, for herself.

I am Lucatiel of Mirrah, here to search for my brother.

Lucatiel saw the undead she had helped on their journey approach the fire, and offered them one last aid, and made one final request. To remember her name, for soon she may not herself.

I am… Lucatiel… of… where? Where am I from?

After the one she had helped had left, she stood to make one last search for her brother, the one she had come to this accursed Drangleic for. He had come some time ago, and still she had not seen anything of him.

I… am… who… who am I?

The undead looked at her sword, and saw a name inscribed upon it. Aslatiel. This must be important to the undead. Something she couldn't remember? Something the curse had made her forget? She had forgotten her name, she knew that.

I am… Aslatiel? Is that who I am?

Aslatiel stood from the bonfire, confident in remembering something. Although something about her name confused her, as if something was wrong with using her own name. She remembered something about the curse. She'd stay sane longer if she had more souls. Maybe she'd remember more if she had more?

I am Aslatiel… of… of…

Aslatiel removed a cracked orb from her pocket, recognizing her gear as being made in Mirrah. Was that where she was from? It doesn't matter now, she needed souls. It didn't matter who she drew her blade on, this was survival or demise.

I am Aslatiel of Mirrah.

Aslatiel materialized in front of a figure she felt she should recognize, and they took a step backwards in surprise at seeing her. They said one word; a word that once again, Aslatiel thought should mean something.

"Lucatiel?"

A word spoken with such feeling of betrayal, and fear that it had to mean something, but Aslatiel couldn't figure out what. It didn't matter now, what mattered was the figure in front of her practically glowed with the souls they carried, the power on their person. They needed to die so she could continue her journey. The renewed purpose brought something to the surface, a memory that she was searching for something, but what?

I am Aslatiel of Mirrah. And I am here to search for something.

Aslatiel fell to her knee, brought down by the blade of the figure she knew had some meaning, some importance, but what that was she couldn't say. She had failed. Whatever she was searching for would never be found. The figure said something, which she heard as she started to fade.

"Lucatiel, I remembered your name. And I will until I go mad myself. Forgive me, but I must survive."

I am… Aslatiel. No… Lucatiel? Lucatiel of Mirrah?

The undead that knew two names stood at the fire she had left, her last hope gone, she had no souls, and soon her mind would be entirely gone. At least someone would remember her name.