"They begin to forget about their lives, about the living. Sooner or later, they simply become wandering spirits with little more than base knowledge of the world. Some get reincarnated after this but most pass into the Realm of the dead," Valerian explains, fiddling with the cuffs of his sleeves as he curls his legs up to his chest. There is something fragile in his expression now, something mortal and entirely human that at once puts a look of such grief over his features that for a moment I wonder if he might cry. But then it vanishes, washed away by the shadows to make it look as though that appearance was no more than a disastrous trick of the light.
Pursing his lips, he hardens his expression. A few of the lamps around us wink out of existence.
