The Dead Carry Light

Описание: On Samhain night, when the veil thins and the earth exhales the breath of ghosts, the old ones say the Dead Carry Light across the hills. I saw them once — or dreamt I did — a procession winding through the mist, their lanterns flickering like fallen stars. They moved without sound, cloaked in the silver glow of the half-moon, their faces hidden yet gentle, neither mournful nor menacing. Each carried a flame cupped in their hands — small, steady, and impossibly bright — and wherever the light touched, the frost receded and the air grew sweet with memory. I stood by the roadside, the heather trembling at my feet, and for a moment, one turned toward me. The lantern’s glow brushed my face, and I felt no fear, only a warmth deep and old, like the touch of kin long gone. Then the wind shifted, and they faded into the hollow, leaving behind the faint scent of apples and peat smoke — and a single spark that lingered in the dark, refusing to die.

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