C A L L A
The spirits are still restless, whirling around her head as she kneels in in the ash. "Yes, I know, but I need a minute," Calla murmurs in answer, a one-sided conversation still muffled by her mask. She's pulled a rag from the bag she carries, as well as a small bottle of water and soap, and with careful attention she sets to cleaning, brushing soot off the marking stone. Behind her there is a flicker of movement as ash is disrupted and a figure comes closer, but Calla ignores it, assuming it's just another ghost.
But it isn't, and Calla starts as a distinctly living voice cuts through the quiet. Spinning around and rising up, lets the rag dangle limp in her fingers and stares at the stranger, wide-eyed as a doe. "Who--?" Calla begins, but her voice is of course muffled by the mask on her face. With an abashed grimace she tugs it down, revealing cheeks pink with embarrassment beneath streaks of soot. "I'm sorry, I... I didn't, that is, I thought you were-- um." Flustered, she reaches with the hand still holding the rag to wipe hair off her face, only realizing at the last moment what a terrible idea this would be. Instead she lets her arm fall once again, licking her lips and wincing slightly at the taste of ash.
"Are you here to visit someone? It may be best to come back later. I'm afraid the ghosts are a little... restless, just now." Especially the one who flickers just past the stranger's shoulder, clearly displeased that its marker is still unclean.
