Alina had watched the Darkling’s breath still, felt his body cool. And yet so long after his death, darkness followed her.
Shadows pooled at her feet, clung to the walls around her. There was darkness where darkness had no business being, always in her periphery, toying with her.
It said: I am here. It said: Did you really think one gets to be so old without having died a few times? This is nothing. It said: I am coming for you.
Across countries, throughout the years there has always been a White Lady. There will always be White Ladies, roaming lakesides, desolate roads and castles alike.
Death’s grip does not prevent these souls from wanting, from searching, from waiting. They weep and laugh in equal parts, with a high and trilling voice that cuts through the air.
There is one White Lady. There are hundreds of White Ladies, for they are all the same.