the ghost

She appeared in the room, full of dignity. Her head up high, her unnaturally straight posture could make anyone feel uneasy in her presence. Little sunlight that could get through narrow gothic windows lit her stiff body of a forty-year old woman, but it could not give any colour to her cold face covered with several layers of powder. She seemed a part of this old castle, her widow-like dresses with old fashioned high collars in antique wardrobes were so well in place here, they were just as dusty as the old crumbling stone walls and moth-eaten tapestries.
It has been more than a century since she died, forsaken in the west tower. She was a queen once, but now nothing is left of the former glory of her kingdom. There are no candles in the numerous chandeliers decorated with spider webs for an ethereal ghost needs no light, no warmth, and no love at all. All she once had was lost in wars and disasters, turned into ashes as her own flesh and bones.
I was told about her in childhood years, and I guess her fascinating character impressed me so much that I decided to visit this sullen place just to feel the scent of dog roses outside and maybe get closer to her mystery inside this moldering ruins.
So here I am, standing right beside her and too fearful to breathe. She was wearing something velvet-like and noble looking, emeralds in her tiara sparkled mysteriously, but they looked brighter than her green eyes. I could not say for sure if it was her spirit before me, but I could swear it was not a living creature. I whispered: “grandmother…”, but she remained calm, her features placid and still. I closed my eyes and the next moment she was gone. No trace of her presence was left in the room, only decaying luxury remained, ugly and pathetic in its grotesque. The cloudy sky seemed too bright through the missing parts of the stained-glass windows. There was nothing to keep me there any longer, so I walked away.