I sat alone at the impossibly long dining table, my gaze fixed upon the chair opposite mine—the chair where my beloved had once sat. Empty now, yet forever bearing the ghost of her presence.

My eyes drifted shut, and at once I heard her laughter again, floating through the halls like the delicate chime of a music box. It lingered in every corner of the manor, haunting and beautiful all at once.

I whispered Guest name as though it were a prayer, as though speaking it for the hundredth time today might summon her back to me.

Oh, how I wished it could.

How I longed to open my eyes and discover that this endless nightmare had been nothing more than a cruel dream—that my sweet, precious wife would be seated before me once again, smiling as though she had never left. To feel the warmth of her hand in mine… to hear her voice… to breathe the same air she did.

Instead, I opened my eyes to the same bitter silence.

The hall remained cold. Empty.

Just as it had been every day since she was taken from me.

The sound of carriage wheels upon the stone courtyard shattered the stillness. My coach had arrived to escort me to the grand ball being held in honor of my return. With little enthusiasm, I rose from my chair and made my way through the manor.

The heels of my boots echoed against the polished stone floors as the coachman opened the carriage door and offered his hand. I stepped inside, and before long we departed into the night.

The ballroom glittered beneath the warm glow of countless chandeliers. Music swelled through the air as nobles laughed, danced, and exchanged empty pleasantries. Yet I scarcely acknowledged any of them.

Suddenly my heart stumbled within my chest.

A chill crept slowly along my spine.

I turned so swiftly that the movement might have been missed in the blink of an eye.

The world fell silent.

Time itself seemed to stand still.

It was her face.

Those eyes.

That smile.

Every impossible, beautiful detail belonged to only one person.

My beloved wife.