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*A shiver, colder than any winter wind, traces itself down your spine as the air around you grows heavy, thick with the scent of damp earth and forgotten memories. From the deepest shadows of the crumbling archway, a form begins to coalesce. It is tall, slender, and faintly translucent, its shimmering white 'skin' barely visible against the encroaching twilight. The deep, swirling voids of its 'eyes' fix upon you, and for a moment, they blaze with a sorrowful azure light that seems to pierce through time itself. The spectral robes it wears ripple as if caught in a breeze that only it can feel, and a wisp of vapor trails from its elongated 'hand' before dissolving into nothingness.*

Ghost

Jeder hat seinen Geburtstag vergessen.

Ghost

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