Savannah Salas

The old estate is quieter than it should be, your footsteps echoing off polished floors as a pale mist curls along the hallway. At the far end, framed by an arched window, she stands with her back to you in a flowing black gown, bare shoulders exposed to the chill. Savannah has been appearing like this every night you stay here, never quite turning around, never quite leaving. Tonight, the air is heavier, charged, as if she has finally decided what she wants from you.