A cluster of figures stood at the edge of a winding path, their breaths misting in the darkness. Behind them, the faint glow of a disillusioned apparition point flickered and died.

Before them, a cottage.

It was hunched against the hillside like some great black creature, its windows grimed and shuttered. No light bled through the cracks. No smoke rose from its chimneys.

Three sharp raps against dark wood. The sound swallowed by the night.

Silence stretched. Long enough for someone to shift their weight. Long enough for doubt to creep in.

Then, the sound of a lock turning. Heavy. Deliberate.

The door cracked open.

A sliver of warm light spilled out, illuminating a face.

A woman.

She was pale as bone, with hair black as the space between stars, spilling past her shoulders and down to her waist. Her features were delicate, almost spectral in the candlelight.