Chapter Five | Church Bells Ringing
The sewers, Catherine found, were nightmarish.
Beasts so far gone they resembled wolf more than man walked along the parapets that looked down into the aqueduct, holding spears of twisted metal, broken pitchforks, and what looked to be an oversized gardening rake covered in crooked spikes.
She found armor down there, or at least, something much closer to armor than the ragged clothes she currently wore.
A facemask built into a torn tricorne, jacket and coat padded with leather and thin steel plates woven into the fabric. Catherine stripped it off a corpse, bile in her throat and hands shaking as she removed each and every article of clothing she could off the dead man, the sturdy boots a touch loose around her toes.
Try as she might, she couldn't help but shudder at the idea of wearing clothes stolen off a corpse, cinched around her body with too many belts and coated in a thin layer of slime and human shit, mixed together with the gelatinous run off of still-crawling corpses that screamed out at her from the dark.
There were creatures in the depths, broken at the waist and laying in puddles of filth, their bodies caked in an acrid brown and clawed hands flailing as they tried to crawl towards her, moaning all the while.
Whether out of agony or the same deep-seated rage that seemed to infect everything in the city she didn't know, but she did try her best to put them out of their misery.
A spear was among the tools she had found down there, curved wickedly and covered in teeth all round the blade. It was lighter and longer than her cleaver, better suited to fighting at range than dead on, though it tore through flesh and bone just the same as its cousin. She found it more useful, snapping out into a point when the switch was flicked, able to stab and corral any beasts that came lunging her way.
The crows though, those were what made her blood run cold.
Large as dogs and roosting among the joists that ran between the canals, their blackened, oily feathers mingling with the shadows and immutable even once they'd fallen down from above, the dim light of the torches casting itself over their bodies.
They barked and snarled, beaks snapping as they crawled and flapped towards her on wings dotted with blood. She struck them down, anger and revulsion coursing through her in equal parts as she shore them in half, their dog-like growls echoing off the sewer walls and disappearing into the city above.
And then she saw the pig.
It couldn't really be called such a thing, considering it was the size of a lorry, teeth sharpened into points and body covered in large blisters filled with white pus, frenzied growls pouring from its throat as it charged towards her.
She panicked, really, it seemed the only thing to do when confronted by something so hideous - sprinting out of the corridor and paying no heed to the filth splashing over her clothes as she dashed up a nearby ladder, swinging herself up its length as quickly as she could.
Her lungs burned as she hoisted herself over the ledge, casting a glance down the ladder to see the pig gnashing and screaming at her from below, hooves scratching at stone and blood dribbling down its face as it mashed itself against the wall.
"Jesus christ," she groaned, laying flat on her back and staring up at the sky. That was awful.
Reaching down to her waist, she took the stopper off a vial and jabbed it into her thigh. Though no wound bothered her, her mind couldn't settle - racing terribly and filled with thoughts of throwing herself down to the creatures below, smashing her skull against the ground and scattering her soul into the lake of filth.
Crawling through the sewers had led to her death a few times, opening her eyes to the Dream and the Doll looming over her, throat thick with sickness and limbs shaking.
The sooner she was out of this nightmare, the better.
Rifling through her pockets, she drew out a sharp red stone - one of many that she'd found - deeper in colour than any ruby she had ever seen and almost fibrous, a lattice of a pink so pale it seemed gray laced across it in dizzying patterns.
It must have been native to whatever world she found herself in, never having seen nor heard of such a gem before. Hopefully it was useful, she'd have to ask the Doll.
Drawing herself up, Catherine heard the low growls of dogs (or crows, she thought) around the corner, looking over to see the birds huddled together around a glowing skull, soft wisps of white light trickling from the eye sockets.
Curious, she ran forward, cutting down the crows without too much trouble, before stooping forward to pick up the skull. As soon as her hands touched the thing she shrieked in fright, something she couldn't see slithering out of it and over hand, leaving a trail of slime in its wake.
Panicking, she crushed the skull in her grasp, the bone so fragile that it snapped like eggshells, the light within rushing into her palm and cooling the skin it touched. Catherine waved her hand about, eyeing the glow with trepidation.
"What the hell?" she asked, watching as the light dimmed.
What was that? What was in there?
She wiped her hand off on her coat, reminding herself to not pick up things just because they glow.
Could have died there. Again.
Turning, Catherine crossed the short bridge connecting this level of homes to the next, fear settling in her gut as she saw one of the giants bashing his hands against a door, shouting loudly.
His muscles rippled with each strike, the door shuddering as his brick chipped at its face, revealing a thick layer of reinforced steel lining the inside of it.
Makes sense, she thought, fiddling with her blade and wondering whether she should attack or skirt around him quietly, climbing up the ladder to his right. How else would people manage to keep the beasts out?
Not wanting to take the chance of having the man break through and kill whoever was living there Catherine tread forward as quietly as she could, hand clenching around the haft of her spear - the cleaver tied snugly to her back.
She lashed out without a noise, the spear pushing through the creatures back and out his chest, ribs snapping loudly as it roared.
Her arm cracked as it whipped around, a pained gasp escaping her, forearm twisted and pointed outward as if she had a second elbow.
Jumping out of reach, she fired off a shot with her pistol before tossing the weapon aside, a blood vial plunging into her flank as she ducked underneath a swipe of the monster's arms, a blanket-wrapped corpse in its grasp.
God, it's using them as a weapon.
Catherine hissed as her arm snapped back into place, rolling aside as the giant bashed the corpse against the ground, blood and dust scattering across the stone. She snatched up her pistol, raising it and firing a shot into the creature's throat, red splashing outwards as it dropped the corpse, hand slapping against its neck.
Lunging, she raked the teeth of her spear across its belly, guts spilling out onto the ground in a wretched heap. It still came at her, tripping on its own innards as it stumbled forward, hands outstretched and grasping feebly.
Blade flashing, she jumped, plunging sharp steel into its chest and sending the beast falling backwards, her feet planted firmly inside its belly and scraping at its spine. Her ankles grew warm, the leather lining of her pants keeping the viscera from soaking into her calves.
Raising the spear, she stabbed it into its throat. Again - again - again - its head detaching from its body and rolling across the stone, a shining trail of blood marking its travels.
Cursing loudly, Catherine climbed out of its body and kicked her feet against the ground, flecks of blood and torn sinew stubbornly clinging to her ankles. "Fucks sake." She put her spear away, taking out her cleaver and scraping the flat end against the gore, managing to remove some of it before giving up entirely, telling herself she'd find a river or the like to wash her clothes in as soon as she had the chance.
That, or she'd throw herself off a cliff, seeing as her clothes always seemed to come back fresh after returning to the Dream.
Scars, though, remained - and she seemed to find a new one every time she died. A mess of lines across her back where the wolf in front of the Clinic had torn her to pieces. Thick knots on her shoulders where she'd been set aflame after being doused in oil, the villagers jeering loudly while she choked to death on the fumes of her own burning skin.
Too many to count, and she'd only been here a little longer than a week.
Catherine stumbled to the door, rapping on it loudly. "It's dead, the beast. You're safe now."
A woman's voice cackled out from inside. "Safe? No such thing as safe in Yharnam dearie. You'd do well to know that."
She rolled her eyes. "Just thought I'd let you know."
"Get gone, outsider, I can smell you from here."
"Heard that before," she muttered, hands snatching at the ladder and raising her up to the next level which was, thankfully, barely ten feet above.
The locals… Catherine found herself hating them more than the beasts that walked their streets. Vile people, prejudiced and foul in their words.
Not one bit of thanks for saving their ungrateful arses. I should leave them to the beasts.
Climbing over the edge, she snatched at yet another lever, the locked gate in front of her swinging open. "What a bitch."
"I wouldn't say such a thing," another voice spoke, familiar.
Catherine looked to the side, seeing Gascoigne peeking out of the window. "Hey. This your place?"
He laughed, head gesturing down. "Aye, and pay her no mind. She's a fright of a woman."
"Everyone here seems to be like that. I had an old woman tell me to leave the city and 'go back to where I came from.' Only heard that from my cousins."
"Well, Yharnamites seem to be a fickle bunch." He scratched at his beard, guise warped through the thick glass. "I'm soon to be off for the hunt, would you like me to come with you?"
"No, no, I'm fine." Catherine waved him off, remembering the glee he had shown when cutting down the beasts that lurked in the city.
If anyone was to lose their mind, she feared it was him.
"Thought I'd offer, but probably best for you to become better accustomed to all the wonders Yharnam has to show." He barked out another sharp laugh. "Best of luck, huntress."
"You too," Catherine said, giving him a dry salute as she left towards the heart of the city.
It was time to cross that damned bridge.
Catherine had seen all types of beasts roaming it. Wolves, giants, maddened peasants with torches glimmering above their heads.
She would be lying if she said she was confident in crossing it, finding herself dead at the grasping hands of unseen creatures in the muck more times than she could count. The wolves were sure to be a challenge, the last and only one she'd fought being so close to death it seemed a joke to kill.
But first, she'd like to return to the Doll, to see if she could garner more power from it.
There was something about her, the Doll had said, in her blood and the way it mingled with the creatures of Yharnam. All hunters drew strength from the blood, taking in the creatures essence like warriors of old believed - feasting on the hearts of their enemies and drawing in their very life.
Catherine, though, was different.
Perhaps it was something to do with her magic, latching out and stealing from the beasts she slew. Blood magic, she assumed, knowing there was good reason the practice was banned with prejudice in her world.
She wasn't entirely sure how it worked, wasn't entirely pleased with it, but it helped her survive and that was all that mattered. Hell, she was disgusted if she was being entirely honest, but the rules of Magical Britain didn't apply in Yharnam. None did.
Almost errantly, she cut down the beasts in her path, trudging past the now smouldering pyre - only bones hanging from its length and the wood soon to crumble - toward the lantern that she knew to rest but a few minutes away.
Soon enough she came to it, unable to hide the smirk on her face as the Messengers eagerly reached to her, their mouths (if they had any) held wide in a facsimile of a grin.
She let them grasp at her clothes, light drowning her vision as she was taken to the Dream.
The Doll was already waiting for her as her surroundings shifted from spires to gravestones, offering a quaint bow as Catherine rose to her feet.
"Welcome back."
"Hey." Catherine walked over to her. "I think I'm ready to try heading into Cathedral Ward."
"How exciting! Please, if you would allow me to help?" the Doll asked, extending her hand.
Catherine took it, trying not to flinch at the strange warmth the porcelain gave off, somehow yielding beneath her touch.
Closing her eyes, she felt as warmth flooded her body, muscles tightening and her chest filling with air as she took a deep breath. It was as if her synapses had been set alight, firing so quickly that her vision shone with stars and every fibre of cloth lining the Dolls clothes stood out in sharp relief against the glass of her skin.
Her hands clenched, teeth vibrating in her skull as Catherine pulled away. "Shite," she exclaimed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "That was… wow."
The Doll placed her hand on Catherine's shoulder, looking her in the eyes. "Are you well?"
"I'm fine, just… I must have been down there a while, wasn't I?"
"A full day, I believe."
Blinking dizzily, she shook her head. "A whole day? But I never- I haven't eaten or slept the whole time I've been here."
"Food is no matter for a hunter of the dream, but sleep…" the Doll trailed off, concern in her voice. "You haven't rested?"
"No, not once. I- could it be the blood?"
She'd developed a bit of a… dependency for the blood, as of late. It kept her mind quiet, stopped her from thinking too much as she set sight on creatures that should not, could not exist. Catherine thought it necessary if she wanted to leave this nightmare in one piece, to come out of it with her mind somewhat intact.
If only Dumbledore could see her now.
A laugh slipped from her lips, imagining the horror on the man's face. He would blame himself, she imagined. When she returned… would she tell him? Would she have the heart to regale Dumbledore of what she had seen? A city that left its inhabitants broken, inhuman and thirsting for blood?
Her mind wandered to images of Ron and Hermione. They wouldn't be able to understand what she had done, what she had to do. "Dark Magic, isn't it?" they'd say, terrified at the prospect of her feeding off the essence of the creatures she had slain.
Catherine thought Snape of all people would understand, foul man that he was. He had seen things, she knew, committed terrible things to gain that mark upon his arm. There wasn't an alternative with Voldemort and nothing short of blood and ash could usher in a gift such as that.
"It's doubtful. The blood does not take away the need for sleep."
But somehow, it did for her.
Maybe it was her magic, again, taking from those she killed. Was it doing the same for the blood she let slip through her veins? Lapping up every last drop until nothing remained but the feeble moans of her dying mind?
There was something about feeling powerful that spoke to her. For once in her life she felt like she could move forward without hindrance. No death of the body could claim her, only that of the mind. That… that, she feared. Guts quivering and eyes pricked sharp with tears as she studied the way the people of Yharnam had lost their battle with what little shreds of sanity they retained.
But had she not lost her mind a long time ago? Killing a man before she had even truly understood the world she had been tossed into? Fighting for her life when she didn't yet know what she wanted to live for?
Cedric had died before he even had a chance to blink. No fear - only surprise on his face as he was struck down by the stain upon humanity that called itself Voldemort.
People didn't question it. They didn't even stop to ask what happened. No, they made up their minds before his body had begun to cool, naming a girl of but fourteen to be delirious - a liar - broken barely four-hundred days into her newfound existence when that green light deigned to grace her brow.
"Does it matter?"
The Doll looked unsure, porcelain fingers awkwardly working their way over one another, clicking quietly as they shifted. "I…"
"You can speak freely."
"I know humans. You need to sleep, you cannot function without it. I've yet to meet a hunter who does not sleep, not with eagerness in their heart."
"And how many hunters have you met?"
Arms spread wide, the Doll gestured all around, glassy eyes passing over each and every crooked tombstone. "Enough to fill this Dream."
A shudder ran its way down Catherines spine. "I'll die here?"
"In a way, yes."
"No." She snatched the Dolls arm, grip harsh around her wrist. "Don't speak in riddles. Tell me what you mean. Will I die here?"
The Doll regarded her impassively, a barely curious glance cast down towards her creaking arm. "Only in the Dream. Not beyond it, not in Yharnam."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean? What? I just die here? That doesn't make any sense!"
"Hurt me all you'd like, Catherine. I will simply return."
She reared back, knuckles cracking as she yanked her hand away. "Hurt you?"
"Was that not what you just did?" Rolling her wrist, the Doll cocked her head to the side. "Hurt me?"
Jaw flexing, Catherine looked away. "I…"
"It is no trouble, Catherine. I am but a Doll. All my knowledge of your world comes from the hunters who have walked this garden. Some have harmed me, yet, I bear no ill will towards them." A strained smile forced its way across her face, hidden screws spinning and hinges snapping into place as her lips quirked. "I love them, how can I not?"
"I can't- " Catherine's breath caught heavy in her throat, the Dolls words saccharine yet somehow dead before they even left her ceramic lungs. "How can you say something like that?"
"Whatever do you mean?" Her words were quizzical, painfully so.
"You can't… they hurt you. I hurt you. How- that's just… no, I'm sorry." She blinked hurriedly, arms trembling. "I have to go."
"Catherine?"
Walking past the Doll, Catherine shook her hands out as if they were cursed. She ignored the being as she mashed her open palm against the gravestone, bringing herself back to Yharnam in a rush of light.
Rushing down the steps and past Gilberts window, Catherine jabbed her spear through the back of a waiting Yharnamite, the man screaming hoarsely as his blood spilled across his chest.
Her hands stung, the warm and unnatural sensation of the Dolls wrist still ghosting across her fingertips as she marched towards the bridge, cutting down everything in her path. She let the blood spatter her face, let it run down the cloth of her mask as she carved through a small house.
An old man lying almost prone in a wheelchair shot her through the gut, Catherine swearing loudly as she pressed a blood vial to her flank, slicing his throat open and snatching a handful of silvery bullets off his lap.
Veins humming, Catherine stuffed the bullets into the bag hanging off her waist, working her way up the stairs and past two more beasts, laying open their bellies before they could so much as ready their weapons.
I hurt her.
A roar from behind and Catherine spun around, jumping aside as a wolf - one of the two she had seen from on high - charged at her. Breath hissing through her teeth, she ran her spear along the monster's flank, ducking out of the way of another slash before kicking at its side, the wolf squealing as she followed with a thrust.
The spear parted its ribs and sloughed through soft flesh, thick ribbons of blood dripping from the open wound and splashing across the ground. It keened lowly as she yanked the blade out of its body, bone chipping and peppering her chest. Leaping on top of the monster, instinct drove her forward, hand plunging through the wound and wrapping around its heart.
Fury on her lips, she ripped the organ from its chest with a triumphant cry, tossing the slippery thing away as the wolf gasped its last breath, claws dug into the stone and chips of rubble sticking to its greasy fur.
Panting, Catherine snatched a vial off her belt, regarding it for just a moment before putting it back.
Her brain was slick with bloodlust, with anger - be it at herself or the monsters, she couldn't quite tell - but it filled her body and set her muscles alight, every fibre of her being tensed and ready for but a whisper of beasts.
She looked ahead to a murder of barking crows that surrounded one of the troll-men, its bellow echoing off into the city beyond as it noticed her.
It charged forward, Catherine twisting aside as it smashed its handful of masonry into the ground, a cloud of dust bursting upwards and clinging to her glasses, heavy breath fogging them even more.
She howled as it smashed the brick against her shoulder, the low crack of shattered bone accompanying her flight towards the low stone columns lining the bridge.
Her lungs emptied as she struck the barrier, blood dripping down her lips and soaking into her mask. Scrabbling, she rolled aside as the giant charged again, a whoop escaping her as it smashed through the columns and fell screaming to the rooftops below.
Lucky, she told herself, tears in her eyes as she pressed a blood vial to her side, her broken shoulder quivering as it pulled itself back together.
There is no such thing as luck. It is but a kindness of the Cosmos, a One above all. Thine existence, Child, is that of amusement - fantasy and folly to be watched idly as it lays its seed among this city.
"Fuck off," Catherine growled, shaking her head. She bit her tongue against the voice, ignoring its cloying whispers as she snatched one of the crows out of the air, its throat crushed beneath her grip.
I only hope to guide thy hand.
Snarling wordlessly, Catherine ground one of the crows skulls beneath her boot, walking the clear path towards the end of the bridge with murder in her mind.
She would find someone important of the Church and force the answers out of them. Snape didn't always use his wand when entering her mind, she was sure she could find a way to do the same. There would be no kindness for them, not if they were the cause of this plague.
As Catherine grew closer to the massive gates, a piercing wail rang out from the ward beyond. It was hideous, high pitched and so grating she could feel blood trickle from her ears. Grinding stone echoed from behind it, heavy footfalls of a creature large enough to shake the very ground she stood on.
A blur of movement accompanied the next screech, a beast the size of a house leaping over the wall and crashing against the bridge - claws as long as her torso shrill and awful as they dragged across the stone.
Its head was antlered, the bones twisted up and down in seemingly random directions - some snapped off at the hilt and bleeding from cracked stumps, the others patched with velvet that seemed rotten, frayed edges tinged with pus. The creature howled again, ribs sharp against tightly-drawn skin as it raised its head to the night sky.
Oh, how awful it was.
Catherine's very being seemed to tremble at the sight, her mind unravelling as it tried to drink in the antithesis of sanity that cast its shadow across the smouldering bridge. Her eyes stung, tears falling in a thin river only to be swallowed up by her blood spattered mask.
Do not close thine eyes. Let thy mind be freed, unfettered by paltry notions of right and wrong - what can and cannot be. This is but a taste.
It killed her in an instant.
She felt herself go flying, only for a brief moment, to watch as her body collapsed behind her - blood spurting from the empty stump that was her neck.
The light of the Dream filled her up as she reappeared in the graveyard, marching past the flustered Doll and returning to Yharnam.
This time, she charged, working her way back to the bridge with her spear in hand - pistol held loosely in the other and the wooden grip damp with sweat. The beast - whatever it was - seemed to be lapping idly at the small puddle of blood where she had just died, nostrils flaring as she grew closer.
It almost looked surprised to see her, some remnant of whatever human it used to be glancing furtively between her and the pool it had been drinking from, muzzle stained a deep red.
She didn't give it a chance to blink, pistol snapping as a shot was fired into its collar, the beast screaming, the long ragged fur along its arm swinging as it pressed its hand to the wound.
Catherine could hardly grunt as it tried to grab her, jumping out of the way with hurried breaths and burning lungs. She returned the gesture, taking off two fingers with a jab - the long teeth of her spear dragging through flesh and bone as if it were naught but water.
Another lunge and she ducked, the creature's massive hand whistling through the air and buffeting her - the strength of it so much that she almost fell over.
Cursing loudly, she fired another shot, this time the bullet striking true and grazing over its muzzle before being buried in the thick bone of its brow. It fell forward, hands held over its face as it moaned loudly, the sound still terribly high and heavy as though needles were being pressed into her ears.
Her blade flicked into place and she attempted to bury it in the monster's brain, plunging into its jaw from below. That only served to anger the thing, spear trapped in the base of its skull and her grip drowned in the steady stream of blood that poured down the matted steel.
She had no choice but to let go of the weapon, still not quick enough for the claws that tore through her chest and plucked out a slab of one of her lungs as if it were a snack pincushioned upon a toothpick.
Falling backwards, she feebly drew at one of her vials, hands shaking and body growing colder as she slammed it into her thigh.
It wasn't enough, and the beast was growing bored with its new treat, tonguing at the chunk of offal speared onto its claw.
Desperate, she unscrewed one of the vials and tore her mask away, tipping it down her throat. She almost choked on how sweet it was. It tasted incredible - warm chocolate and rich spices danced across her tongue, dripped from her chin, her chest straining painfully as lungs re-grew and bones knit back together.
Much more effective, Catherine thought, dragging herself to her feet just as the beast lunged again.
She felt empowered, raw. Her mind seemed to snap into place, no longer stymied by the sight of such a horrific creature and instead focused on one thing: the hunt.
Her roar matched its own, frenzied and defiant. She would win.
Heart pounding, she sprinted towards the monster, slipping underneath a frantic swing and stepping beneath its legs. She jumped, snatching at her blade and yanking it out as she fell back to the ground - the metal dragging through its jaw and down its throat with a horrific squeal, grinding against bone and tight sinew.
Blood showered down on her from above, painting her in the sweet warmth of its embrace. Some flitted over her tongue, bright and powerful, delicious.
She could taste upon its blood what this thing used to be: a Cleric, minister of the Church and one focused on none else but tightening his own grip on the people of Yharnam. He took pleasure in how they depended on him, on the ichor of the Church. His addiction to it was strong, causing his quest of rising amongst the Churches ranks (a choir?) to falter embarrassingly, talked down to by his superiors - an Amelia - High Vicar and face of the Church.
Catherine blinked in surprise. Knowledge from the blood? Such a thing was unimaginable to her, to drink up what someone used to be.
Why hadn't this happened with the vial she had just drank? Painted in blood as she was?
She suddenly remembered her predicament, rolling under the monsters legs as it tried to snatch at her, hands scraping at its belly. Catherine was not idle, blade running through the creature's ankles and carving through tendon, causing it to fall to its side in a massive heap, head hanging over the bridge as it let out a pathetic moan.
Her arm raised again, hacking through bone and muscle and removing the creatures hand, the bloodied limb slamming to the ground with a heavy thud. The stub pulsed, crimson spurting from it in thick ribbons as Catherine took her spear and plunged it between two barren ribs.
This time, she could feel as its very essence was siphoned into her body - consumed wholly as its body went slack, a single rattling gasp slipping from its throat and punctuating the Clerics death with not a bang, but a whimper.
Memories flooded into her, a blurred mess of this man's life from front to back, the fear that struck him as he felt the Scourge - for that was what the Church called this plague - taking control. The anger he bore against his betters, how he felt they couldn't recognize his love for the Church.
Reginald, she realized, the man bearing an almost delusional obsession with receiving the ultimate blessing of the Church and being granted admittance to the Upper Ward. To be a member of the Choir, something that he knew just as little of as she did.
But there was no information of the Scourge itself. How it started, where it came from, how to stop it. No mention of Paleblood nor the gods these people worshipped, only rote hymns praising Formless Oedon, the Church's god above all.
Exhausted and soaked to the bone, she stumbled towards the gate only to find it locked tight. She wrapped her hands around the iron, pulling on it uselessly.
Nothing.
She tried the door to her left, reinforced heavily and just as stalwart in disallowing her entrance to the Cathedral Ward.
Catherine found herself laughing, falling to the ground and propping herself up against the frigid wall. The sounds that left her body were maniacal, tinged with fury and a madness she never once thought would taint her voice.
"Useless!" she cried out, chest heaving with cackles as she raised her arms to the sky. "Absolutely useless!"
There was another bridge below, she knew - thin and packed with furious beastmen all clamoring to see her dead. Another bloodbath, another battle to be fought in her need to just get home.
Sobs shook her slight frame, now scarred and packed with lean muscle. Nothing gained from Yharnam, but instead the dream. A false strength, she thought, something stolen from others in their dying moments.
Was it all worth it?
Could she find a way to die and pray that for once, it stuck? Was that too much to ask?
Tears ran down her face as Catherine's pain echoed across the city, and if one were to listen they would find her wails not too dissimilar from the creature that lay dead at her hand.
Eventually, her eyelids grew heavy, the burden of the hunt pressing down on them with a weight unimaginable, and soon she found herself unable to fight it - drifting off into a fitful sleep.