Haunted Wood A scream permanently lodged in my throat

the wraith is a sore, cursed thing. her sides are swollen, her steely demeanor frayed. she is hounded constantly by cravings, sickness, aches, and restlessness. and so when she stumbles across the woman in the wood, it is hardly surprising that no greeting slips from her. only her gaze, made sharp and cutting but hate and ire, serves to make any form of greeting as she steps toward the woman, outlined with tension.