A Plea for Peace

The spectral form of the girl shimmered, a faint, pearlescent glow against the encroaching twilight. Her eyes, wide and impossibly sad, fixed on Claire, who was still sprawled on the damp forest floor, mud smearing her once-proud cheeks. Tears, hot and stinging, had long since dried, leaving behind a salty residue, but the terror was a cold, hard knot in Claire’s stomach. This wasn't some figment of her overactive imagination, some elaborate trick of the trees. This was…real. Or as real as a ghost could be, which was, frankly, more real than Claire had ever anticipated.

"You… you’re the voice?" Claire managed, her voice a shaky whisper, barely audible above the rustling leaves that suddenly seemed to mock her.

The ghost girl nodded, a slow, mournful dip of her incorporeal head. "I am. Or rather, I was. My name was Elara." The name, spoken by the ghost, sounded like the chime of distant bells, beautiful yet tinged with an unutterable sorrow.