The Grave

It appears I have made a terrible mistake. For the hillock where I discarded the talisman has begun to change. A strange, red moss has begun to sprout from the mud, as if the symbol itself had struck deep into the earth and it was now bleeding. Yet when I prodded the growth with a stick, countless holes opened, like small, hungry mouths, each one seeking to drink in all that was around it. The talisman had given birth to a new stain upon the marsh. I lit a fire using the oils of the Fen and watched the evil smoke rise into the air as the moss twitched and writhed.