((Written by Tatiana, not Adam or Eevee. Please read and review!))
Caspian Bane stood before his parent’s mausoleum with quiet remorse. His young face was pulled into an expression far too serious for his years, and his green eyes were a color far too dull for his spirit. His vitality had been drained from his body with their passing; the now orphaned youth could barely hold himself with a respectable posture.
A cold autumn wind blew through the graveyard, rustling the leaves on the nearly dead trees. The dusty earth was littered with decaying weeds and shards of stone. The sun had long since set, leaving the cemetery in the deep shadow of night. Weak glimmers of moonlight flashed across headstones, but would soon fade again as clouds obscured their glow. A torch had been lit as an afterthought, its bland flame flickering atop its perch on the tomb. Shades danced in the light it managed to provide, though they scattered fearfully when the wind threatened their fire.
Caspian himself was covered in the ashy soil, as if he’d spent a great time kneeling upon the ground. His dark hair was a sharp contrast to his fair skin. There was a defeated scowl on his lips when he turned away from the engraved words on the mausoleum wall. Antonio and Phoebe Bane; in pace requiescat.
The slightest of whispers came from beyond a nearby headstone. Caspian whirled around, finding nothing to explain the noise. He crept slowly towards the grave marker, his grief momentarily forgotten. The flames the torch held turned an icy blue color, and the wind whistled a low note in the treetops.
Without warning, a small patch of brown briar flared up with blue fire. Caspian fell back in terror. At a slow, rhythmic pace, the blaze separated into smaller sparks that floated with an unnatural glow. There was a sharp intake of breath when Caspian realized the sight before him.
“Jack o’ Lanterns…” he murmured, eyes wide with amazement.
Feeling curious, he reached out a shaking hand towards the Will o’ the Wisps. They were cool to the touch despite their burning appearance. They bobbed slightly, and Caspian withdrew his hand. He stood once more; with a quiet whisper, the flames disappeared.
“Peculiar, aren’t they?” asked a feminine voice.
With an almost comical flourish, Caspian rotated to view the voice’s owner.
She was a delicate thing, with slender limbs and pale skin. Her long hair fell to her waist; a snug black dress clung to her figure. Black ribbons were tied around her middle. There was a silvery glint below her collar bone that resembled a locket. The deep Atlantic ocean could not compare to the blue of her eyes.
Caspian tried not to gape at her beauty; she smiled faintly.
“Yes,” he finally managed to say, his voice shaky and awed.
“They are St. Elmo’s Fire- the spirits of those who have died but cannot move on.” She stepped forward, taking her place beside him.
Caspian cast a sideways glance at her. “They are…. Ghosts?”
