In the darkest moments of their forced journey through Barovia, Evelyn had taken great comfort in her faith. Not just her faith in Lathander, but her faith in her friends as well.

She took special comfort in reminiscing of the day she met Diath, a meeting that ultimately brought the four of them together. A rogue who gave help to a starving child, a rogue who was no thief. A rogue with light shining in him like the sun.

Yet as the rest of the party has collapsed in sleep in yet another patch of haunted forest after escaping the Vistani mob, she is curled up in her bedroll, dazed and heartsick. She tries to banish the horror in her heart, tries to recall that happy moment all those months ago, that brilliant light in Diath’s emerald eyes.

But there is no light. Not anymore. Now the only image that is fixed in her mind’s eye is the pin clutched in his hand, and a small crimson handprint smeared across his face.

She rolls over to find the source of her pain huddled by the small campfire and staring sightlessly into the flames.

Evelyn isn’t sure if she can manage to speak without breaking, but she needs to know.

“The day... The day we met, Diath. I was...so sure of your innocence. I had so clearly seen the good in you.”

She slowly rises and fishes out a piece of cloth and a waterskin from her pack, offering both to him as a desperate plea for reassurance. Her voice drops to a cracked whisper.

“...Was I wrong?"

He doesn’t answer, and makes no move to wash the blood away.