Lost Ragne Letter 3 - The Pining Frost

For several nights now, she has risen from our bed and wandered beyond the edges and outskirts of Ragne.

She does not wake when I call her name.

Her feet carry her as if sleepwalking, but always to the north, toward the quiet edge of the woods where the frost covers the trees.

I followed once, but the cold grew thick in my lungs choking the air from my chest, and the dark pressed too close, obscuring my vision until I lost sight of her. When I returned, she was already back as if she had never left, carefully sitting by the fire, hands folded neatly before her and her yellow eyes empty.

At dawn she swore she had not left.

But I found frostbitten weeds beneath our bedroom window and wet foot prints upon the floorboards.

- B.