"What are you on about…" Valarie's voice echoed out from her lips. She sounded confused, as if she didn't know what Damon was talking about.
Damon looked at her with an edge of suspicion, though he had no reason to be.
Valarie was just a discarnate soul, possessing only her own lips—that was all there was left of her.
She had spent centuries sealed off with rot, her body decaying. Even in death, she was not liberated.
She remained self-aware as time passed by in that dark cathedral, rot consuming her bit by bit.
Any person would have gone mad from that.
Valarie did not—or at least, not in any obvious way. But Damon knew her memory was fleeting.
She forgot conversations and faces, only recalling them when there was external stimuli or a trigger to remind her.
Even so, Damon had to know.
"You mentioned the pillar... you said something about war and conflict. You said 'conflict pillar' just now…"
