The Glass Wraith gift and the deepest brown

and the deepest brown

It’s not morbid — it’s merry in the way only the dearly departed can be

a subtle shift in the air

this leaf held fast

but its pull is undeniable

The Glass Wraith gift and the deepest brownThey say she lingers where the light grows thin not out of malice, but out of memory. The Glass Wraith is no howling spectre, no vengeful shade. She is quieter than that. A presence caught between breaths, glimpsed in the shimmer of a curtain or the glint of a near invisible crystal. Once, perhaps, she waited by candlelight for a promise unkept, her hands folded, her resolve turning to mist. Now she waits still, bound not by chains but by the fragile