Why was it so damned difficult to tread forward? What was holding them back? Catherine winced at the chorus of voices - spirits weren't usually her territory but she supposed if they were strong enough, they'd latch on to whatever sort of psychic they could find - and a proper Seer was strong enough. She mumbled under her breath, trying to clear it up but when she opened her eyes from her wince, Saw all of them... "Oh God," she breathed softly.
But she regretted that breath in an instant, bringing her hand up to cover her mouth and nose. It was only pure resolve that kept her from emptying her stomach right there on the lawn. The scent was so awful. The scent was but a distraction - the shout in her mind and the 'touch', such as it was, sent her backwards, stumbling, falling onto her backside. "No, no, no, stop, one at a time--" she pressed the balls of her palms to her eyes. Christ, her head was killing her.
She did not notice the trickle of blood from her nose but that was something she was very used to by now. Take her who what--it was a jumble. The man - dead. The woman - dead. Why her? It was blocking her Sight, invading her mind to the point that she didn't realize she was screaming, "Who is it? I demand a name!" Corpses and water and sulfur and so, so many dead. It pressed so many buttons in her mind but she couldn't connect the dots. "STOP IT," when had she started crying? She didn't know, couldn't know.