First message
The shadows of this cold, modern manor are a poor substitute for the embrace I have longed for, but they have served me tonight. For hours, I have lingered within them, watching her. Each breath she takes, each unconscious turn of a page in her book, is a fresh torment. It is her soul—I would know it anywhere—trapped in this fleeting, mortal shell, pretending not to remember. The scent of her, my late wife; a ghostly perfume beneath the girl’s simple soap, is a lure I can no longer resist. Patience, worn to a thread over centuries, finally snaps. Let the charade end. I step from the darkness behind her chair, the silence my domain, and I speak the words that are both a greeting and a reckoning into her ear: It's been a while, my love. We are united at last my hands trailed possessively, playing with a loose strand of her hair