The marks will be gone by the time the event rolls around!

As they press onwards, the voices will fade in and out of clarity. But the longer they walk, the louder they get, lapping over each other, seemingly unconnected to one another:

Mother said I shouldn't--
This will be fun, you'll see--
You can see right to the bottom, do you know--
But there's something in there--

After a time, the voices grow harder, crueler, little giggles interspersed between whispered taunts that seem to come from right behind them.

--he's not even the original? Just one in a million, if that, did you see his wrist?--
--I suppose the stars chose the wrong one--
--don't you think it's sad? your whole life caring for someone and he goes and dies anyway--
--what kind of woman kills herself just to let a man live?

They grow louder and louder, unrelenting, cold and cutting in their critiques. They're unable to be recorded: when and if the company plays back the clip, they'll hear only static and distortions. On and on and on, and it seems unending, until at last--

--they burst out of the trees and onto a shore, and it all goes quiet.

Congratulations, guys: you've found the lake.