Luneshale Pass (BOO) Though tears can be hidden, all hearts break.

She was a silver wraith; drifting, hazy. Did she touch the earth? Her form appeared to move without striding, although mimed the motion.
Her voice called in return: Where...?
The boy, a shadow. The ghost drawn to it like a moth to flame, eager to get close, hungry for warmth.
Standing now in view of him, poised with her head high. A queen. My child... A smile draws across her face, matronly, sharp, somehow disingenuous.