I can't recall my dream.

I know I had one, back in England, but I cannot recall it.

Like a faded photograph,

it slowly but surely disappears from memory.

But I do recall the feeling it gave me.

Not of joy, exactly, nor fear.

It was a feeling of disconnect.

As if I were watching myself, though I had no form.

A layer of glass between me and what I witnessed, it was a separation of self.

I'm reminded of that now.

Why?

Because this blight, it coats my view of the dark world in a film, obscuring what I see, tainting it ever so slightly.

It is not as it appears.

It is... Infected.

I see.

Be glad you don't.

We walk through a dark of verdant haze,

the same we've been in since leaving no man's land.

And while we've encountered many a mist, fogs that cling to the still

swamp water, clouds that hang from trees, this is not the same. It is not of the clouds. It is

the air. No breeze will ever move it.

No gust of wind will ever shift it from this place.

...