The chimes of distant bells permeated the blustery evening, a sound of melancholy amidst the falling snowflakes. With a sigh, he closed the book he was reading.

Every day at four in the evening for seven days, the bells were rung to mourn Lady Yasmine’s passing.

He knew the day would come sooner or later, but for most people, knowing did not mean being prepared, and being prepared did not mean acceptance. The townspeople had been devastated when they learned the news.

He got up from the comfort of the rocking chair usually reserved for the eldest in the house, returned the book to the shelf, and headed to the kitchen to get a hot drink. The logs in the fireplace crackled and hissed as they became sacrificial beacons to keep the fire going. The floorboards, however, were freezing.

He took a sip of water and almost scalded his tongue in the process. “Curses…” he muttered, nearly dropping the mug.

The coldness he felt at his feet crept up to the pit of his stomach. One of the windows was ajar, and a chill invaded through the gap. Who left the window open on such a frigid day?

As he leaned over the counter to close the window, he glanced at the windswept street beyond the fence—more of a habit than a coincidence—and saw her.

A young, slender lady walked past his house in the middle of the terrible weather. His voice caught in his throat, trapped by a turbulence of confusion and shock. His hand glued to the handle of the window, the cold forgotten.

She turned her head. For a moment, their gazes met. Her pale, emotionless eyes, as still as stagnant lakes, pierced through his. The thin night dress that swathed her body danced with the howling wind and her hair, akin to the color of snow, billowed behind her.

He would have recognized her anywhere. No, it was impossible—beyond any plausible explanation—for a sickly, frail, delicate young woman to be walking around in this kind of weather.

Most importantly, she should be dead.

His jaw went slack. Was he hallucinating? Were the wind, the snow, and the bells collaborating to play tricks on his mind?

The lady averted her eyes and continued on her way. Her bare feet trudged through the ice, and she gradually disappeared into the flurry.