The fog of confusion was slowly lifting, the bitterly cold air bit fiercely through Tristan's mud soaked clothes. There was no physical pain, only a slowly growing mental anguish as understanding began to work its way through his mind.

He had died, and his family had buried him. Now he was alive, though he didn't yet fully understand why or how. He only knew that he felt drawn back home, the need to let his family know he was ok pulling him forward.

The house seemed empty, though Tristan was aware of muffled sounds coming from beyond the closed doors of the bedrooms. His parents' room was empty and undisturbed, sending a chill down his spine.

He made his way down the hall to his sisters' bedroom, a familiar haven in his youth. As he began to push open the door, the sense of familiarity was washed over by increased sensations- the smoothness of the wood grain, the chill of the crystal doorknob against his palm, the brush of fabric against his skin.

The room was dimly lit, yet not a single detail was lost. The air was thick with the sickly sweet smell of opium, though the only evidence of it was an empty chemist's bottle on the floor next to where his mother lay sleeping. His younger sisters were at her side, growing concern just starting to show on their faces.

Gemma: "Daddy? Is that you?"
Tristan: "Gemma…"

His sisters froze, slowly turning as if in a nightmare. Tristan began to feel the icy grip of foreboding as the realization of what they must be seeing started to sink in. His sisters began to scream then, shattering the silence.

Tristan: "Cindy, it's me! It's your brother, Tristan!"
Cindy: "My brother is dead! I don't know what you are!"

Brian: "What's going on in here?!"

Tristan turned to his older brother, hoping for some semblance of understanding or sympathy if not acceptance. The only expression on his brother's normally amicable face was rage.

Tristan: "Brian, I'm alive-"
Brian: "I don't know what demon you are, but you have no right to come into this house wearing the face of my dead brother!"
Tristan: "Brian-"
Brian: "Go back into the depths of hell where you came from!"
Tristan: "Mother's dying!"

Tristan's father was quickly behind his brother, the two of them moving forward with deadly intent. He realized then that he was truly dead to them, this vision before them nothing more than a fiend intent on harming them and their loved ones. There was no returning home for Tristan- not tonight, not ever.

Without any further hesitation, he bolted forward, breaking between his brother and father. He ran for miles before he collapsed, tears washing away the cracked mud on his face.