Laying to Rest

The candle flickered, as though something had passed by it, or over it, or through it, before the flame seemed to swirl and grow, creating patterns impossible without the aid of some supernatural force. And the force was there, though Ludo had no shape with which it could give the memory form. For was it a memory, truly? Or a memory of a hope, of a dream that would not be? Whatever the answer, Phoebe would feel the ghostly touch of hands cupping her own, warm and gentle, and the weight of something around her shoulders, like a blanket or an embrace. "What do you believe, sweetling?" Ludo's voice whispered softly into her ear. "What do you believe became of your child? What would they have been? What would they have become?" LUDO Braved the forests, braved the stone Braved the icy winds and fire Braved and beat them on my own