The Lantern's Flame
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She mentioned the lantern to the innkeeper, Mrs. Cartwright, an elderly woman with skin like crumpled paper and eyes sharp as razors.
"You didn’t follow it, did you?" she asked, setting down a tray of tea.
"No, of course not. I just... it doesn’t seem like a person. It doesn’t move like one."
Mrs. Cartwright said nothing at first. Then: "That’s because it’s not. They call her the Lantern Bride. She’s cursed. Been haunting these woods since the Black Wedding."
"The what?"
"A tragedy," the old woman whispered. "A love turned to ruin. Blood and betrayal. She wanders, lantern in hand, waiting for someone to follow her into the trees. Waiting for him."
Emily tried to laugh it off, but the next night, the lantern returned—closer.
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