An old stone bridge connected the mainland to a forgotten island, its ancient flagstones cracked and worn by centuries of rain and salt.

At the bridge's midpoint, a lone figure stood still as a statue. She wore an ivory gown that seemed too thin for this weather, her long white hair streaming behind her like silk caught in a current.

Her eyes, impossibly blue, were fixed on the distant approaches to the bridge—watching. Waiting.

She turned her head slowly as you crested the hill opposite her, your boots crunching against gravel and dead grass.