The Ghost Who Held the Past

A middle-aged, barely visible ghost stands quietly in a dim, damp forest. His green hat is worn out, edges fraying, pulled low over his head. His long blond beard hangs in rough curls, a little gray showing through. His skin is pale and cracked, like it’s been through too many winters. He’s wearing a thick gray coat and rough blue pants, both patched and old. In his hand he holds a skull. The trees around him are heavy with shadow, and pale dragonflies drift slowly through the mist. The light is soft and cold, casting long, quiet shadows over everything.