The Haunting Figure

Black as night. Its face was nothing more than a white bird mask. Nearly taller than the door as it loomed over the threshold.

And at the worst time of a woman to face a situation such as that. I should have remembered at least one of the tales Mom told me as a child. Tales of strange creatures terrorizing women and girls when they least expect it, and what was the common thread? They were alone and their guard was down. They’d freeze like statues, when they should have done something, anything to ward off a potential threat.

But those were just stories, meant to teach children basic survival skills. What does a grown woman do when she sees something out of a tale, in real life? Was it luck for me, or perhaps the figure just lost interest? I feel a little lucky at least, that hopefully it didn’t see me as a threat and moved on.

Perhaps it was just a figment of my imagination. I haven’t been in Runeheim for long, but one would be a fool to not see the stress and pressure everyone seems to be under. Maybe I’m part of the afflicted, my mind playing tricks as a result. Nothing a good drink and time with familiar faces could fix, I’m sure.

Perhaps I’ll bother Clemens to ramble on about anything at me. So long as it heals my mind of whatever this cursed figure has manifested itself from. And if he manages to keep my attention.

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