A shadow gathers when the wind begins to mourn.
At midnight she comes.
Under the failing light of the streetlamp, the ghost takes shape - slight, brittle, stitched together from darkness and memory. The world grants her only a few stolen minutes at a time. Always she stands in the same place. Always she lifts her gaze to the same house — the house that once held her laughter, her future, and the beloved who never spoke of what truly happened to her.
The tale of her death has withered into...