Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.
The night was silent save for her footsteps as she walked through the snow. Not even the wind was blowing. It was dark, too; as the moonlight couldn’t filter through the branches. The horse at her side tossed his head uneasily as they continued the trek. She couldn’t blame him. The woods weren’t supposed to be this quiet, even in the dead of winter.
But then again, she didn’t expect anything else from this place; cursed as it was with sorrow, grief, and death magic.
Finally, they broke out of the trees and saw a ruined village ahead. She tied the horse’s reins to a sapling and continued onward; walking along what was once the bustling main street. Now, only the ghosts trod there.
And her, of course. But she was a ghost, too, in her own way. Lurking in the shadows, leaving no trace behind.
She came to a halt in front of a blacksmith’s shop. The roof had collapsed long ago under the strain of the seasons, and the forge was rusted and covered with snow and debris. The house attached to the shop was in no better condition. The door had been ripped off its hinges and snow had piled in the entryway. She ignored it and stepped inside.
She wandered through the empty rooms until she found the kitchen and the dining table. She stood there for a moment, squeezing her eyes shut to block out the memories, then reached into her pocket and withdrew two white lilies; exquisitely crafted of blown glass.
She remembered running up to her mother and tugging at her skirt, holding up a bouquet of flowers that she’d found by the river or stolen from the neighbors’ gardens. It had always made her smile, even if it was accompanied by a scolding.
She looked at the two flowers for a long moment; their bright colors a jarring contrast to the dullness and decay of the rest of the house; then turned on her heel and left. She came out into the moonlight again and retraced her steps through the silent streets.
She was not surprised when she returned to the horse and saw someone else standing there.
“Still haven’t changed your mind?” the other asked. She shook her head without hesitation; her hand drifting to the rapier sheathed at her side.
“I won’t let this happen again if I can help it.”
“Then it’s time for your formal initiation into the Order of the Ghostslayer. There’s no turning back now.”
She took her horse’s reins and followed her mentor back into the trees. For a second, she paused and looked over her shoulder one last time at the ruined village. Then she resolutely turned away and continued into the woods.
No turning back.
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