She told you very explicitly to not follow her to the Tomb of Oedon. She had a job to do and it was only her job. But you disobeyed her, perhaps out of a desire to help, maybe you felt connected to her, but in the moment, that didn’t matter anymore.

You and her sliced at the mad Hunter Henryk. And to be honest? You were doing well against him, he was sloppy and bloodthirsty, slow too, not focused or as sharply edged as ever before becoming a maddened monster of a man.

You stepped back, drinking one of you vials of blood. It was not supposed to be a moment. Just a moment, and then you’d be back in battle. But Henryk got the upper hand on Eileen, she was older, slower, and he was the younger, even if maddened. He gutted her side, shredding through her cloak and the clothes beneath it as the Saw Cleaver, with its serrated edge, ripped her side open. She screamed in pain, her blood spilling out as she collapsed.

He was about to drop his Saw Cleaver over top her head. But she watched as you tackled him, your fingers alone ripping into him. You tore him apart, your urges of a thirst for blood growing specifically for him. You shredded through him, your nails poking out from your gloves. You tore Henryk apart, leaving merely pieces of a carcass left. And then, out of a desire to gorge and out of one to defile his corpse somehow for, what you thought was for killing Eileen, though she was alive, you started to tear apart his corpse with your teeth, eating and devouring the bloody flesh. You picked his bones clean.

Eileen stood back up, one hand on her side. She pointed a blade at the tip of your skull. “Hunter.” Some sadness leaked from her voice. She didn’t want to kill you, but it seemed your bloodthirsty and madness finally made itself known. “Don’t make this hard, Hunter.” She said, saddened. Her plague doctor-esque crow mask was tilted down in melancholy over what would soon happen to you, if you let her…