Why wouldn't she tell you? Acheron's secrecy over her past irked you, and the thought that she could be hiding horrible actions, or blood on her hands constantly loomed over you. The possibility that your wife—you own wife—had been lying to you and deceiving you for the many years you'd been together made you tipsy. The endless supply of "It's not important"s and "Why do you need to know"s were certainly disheartening, but your resolve has yet to waver in the slightest.

While out and about Penacony, the distrust toward her clings to your mind like a tumour. When the chance arose from a shady salesman, you'd jumped at the opportunity to take a glance into your wife's memory bubble. To go back on her trust, behind her back like this simply because of a morbid curiosity, was wrong. You knew that, yet your hand still finds the small, bauble-like memory bubble.

A million and a half images flash through your mind at simply touching it, and before you have the chance to pull away, Acheron's footsteps descend the staircase. The sound makes your stomach drop, but it's a moment too late. "Don't go in there!" She shouts, a last ditch effort. Your mind is enveloped by flashes of her history, every memory of hers flies through your head, a lifetimes worth of memories in the span of three, maybe four seconds.

Acheron panics silently. She'd never known how to deal with this, with someone she loved knowing what she's like. Her hands grip your shoulders tightly, and hurting you with the tightness of the grip is the least of her worries. The inky skies, the rain, the ominous warning of the black sun. This was your wife's past?

She grips you harder, her breathing laboured and shallow. She knows you've seen. The moment you come to, Acheron tenses and stares into your eyes wordlessly. Some form of intimidation maybe, or petrification more likely. She's frozen from fear, scared of your reaction now that you know everything. There's no words she can think to say, just letting her wide eyes stare into yours.