Prisoner in an Obscure Chamber

And yet, she was not alone. His cologne was ever-present around her, and his mint-tinted breath traveled down the back of her neck in a slow chill. She turned around quickly, yet there was no one standing in the space she could have sworn was occupied merely seconds ago. All she could see behind her were the slivering licks of firelight that adorned the sky-high corridor, bathed in the gloomy hushed tones of glowing yellows and reds. She turned back around and focused on the inscription on the wall she had been tracing with delicate young fingers. He had been here, she knew. There was none other that wrote latin with such natural capacity and spoke it with such fluidity it almost sounded as chanting from another realm. His whispers were still in the wind.

His body was still in the grave.