Claire's Compassion

Claire, now thoroughly humbled and smelling vaguely of damp earth and existential dread, looked at the spectral girl who hovered before her. The ghost, whose name Claire had learned was Elara, had the translucent shimmer of a forgotten dream. Her eyes, however, were startlingly clear, filled with an ancient weariness that made Claire’s own recent terror feel like a fleeting tantrum.

“So,” Claire began, her voice raspy from crying and the general indignity of being lost in the woods, “you’re… stuck here.” It wasn't exactly a question.

Elara nodded, her form wavering like a candle flame in a draft. “For a very long time. The forest… it doesn’t let go easily. Especially not when you’re as determined as I was.”