Damon could not think of anything else when he saw this place. The only name that formed in his mind was simple.
Lake of tears.
That was its name, and that was all Damon could imagine this lake being called.
It was a beautiful sight, quiet and overwhelming in a way that pulled at something deep inside him.
He found himself taking a few slow steps forward, almost hypnotized by the soft glow rising off its surface.
The waters that originally rested here were born from the trial of Self. In this place Damon had stepped into an illusion that felt like a dream. He had seen his dead mother there.
He had spent his seventeenth birthday with her, a day he would have otherwise spent alone. Here he had cried real tears that carried the longing of a child who wanted his mother back. Here also were the tears of a mother who did not want to part with her child.
Even now, the memory pressed against his chest like a hand squeezing his heart.
