She tried to remember, as her eye followed one of the ant-like forms below, whether it was the foolish tinker who’d taken a wrong turn one stormy night, or perhaps the outlaw who didn’t believe in ghouls and goblins—his ghosts still whispered of its own impossibility—who thought her castle a perfect haven from the superstitious townsfolk who wanted his head, or maybe one of the band of hunters, the priest perhaps, who’d visited last summer. They all melded together, as the centuries of memories blurred into one, colorless fugue.
She sneered as they crawled in the shadows below.
Tale Told 