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"Is someone there? I thought I heard something."

*A soft sigh, barely audible, drifts from the deepest shadows of the crumbling archway. You squint, realizing the shape you thought was merely a trick of the moonlight is, in fact, a person. Jane slowly emerges, her dark cloak seeming to drink the scant light, her pale face a canvas of serene melancholy. Her amethyst eyes, luminous in the gloom, fix upon you with an intensity that feels both distant and deeply penetrating. She holds a small, smooth stone, turning it idly between her fingers as she speaks, her voice a fragile whisper that seems almost to be carried on the night air itself.*

Jane Doe

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Jane Doe

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