Author's Note: I have no valid excuses. It's been far too long and for that, I apologize. But in return, I made a very necessary chapter update AND it's a longer one. Here, the fun begins... I do hope you enjoy and if it makes you feel any better, I have already started writing out the next chapter.

- Phantom's angel

The wick of the lantern ignited with a flare, filling the darkness of the porch. It was a welcome sight, watching the flame take within its chamber. It warmed the air and brought ease to an anxious heart. Christine held the lantern close to her chest, trying to block the light from slipping into the house. Papa had already retired for the night, but drawing him down stairs would terminate her plans at going out again. She paused, waiting to hear if footsteps would descend down the stairs.

Nothing.

Christine turned to the woods, staring out into the black abyss. It looked just as it did the following night, with a steadiness in the air around her. The length of the land churned by her and her father was the only thing holding her back, but with a huff of determination, she jumped off of the porch and charged into the forest, leaving the safety of home behind her.

The woods were buzzing with live as the creatures of the night warned of Christine's presence, screeching and gawking as she hurried by. Christine seemed quite familiar with her surroundings. She recognized each tree she passed and every stump on the ground. It seemed Christine had her homeland to thank for her knack at familiarizing herself with land surrounding her. The trees, magnificently untouched and natural in their purest state, were incredibly large and triumphant. Heavy leaves and branches rested on their trunks, gathering an array of animals to build their homes. If animals could live in such a peace here, why not people?

Each tree was unique, yet equally as impressive as the next. They all had a unique presence despite their being all the same type, making them like old friends to Christine from the night before. They all guided her along the same path she previously took, supporting her in her quest.

It didn't take long until Christine had come to the end of her previous route. She found the lantern that Raoul had offered her at the end of la Toussaint, extinguished and brushed beneath scattered leaves. It looked so worn, as if it had been there for years, yet she knew that it was this spot that she had abandoned her safety. As she continued further down her altered path, Christine could see the very spot she last remembered standing in before losing consciousness, now also left undisturbed by her struggle. It was as if the forest had some ability to erase all that happened within it.

Yet now, without the fear Christine felt last night, Christine decided to leave her lantern once again behind her.

Breathing a prayer into the wick, Christine blew out the only light that could save her, for the moon was hidden behind the layers of clouds in the twilight sky. She placed the lantern in the last spot she recalled consciousness and set off further into the wild.

The trees now were not recognizable to her. They were taller and darker, offering even more shade from the already black sky. Christine looked about herself, once again feeling that fear gripping her heart. It could be that she would not be so lucky like she was the night before. If a ghoul had taken hold of her again, she may not be greeted by a savior, whatever it was that interfered. Yet part of her purpose this night was not only to receive answers, but perhaps to even understand what had happened to her the night before. After all, she did possibly owe her life to them.

Christine pulled her tattered cloak up higher on her shoulders. She felt it wise to wear the same cloak out on her second journey into the woods in case there was another incident. It made her feel more vulnerable, yet as she continued along her unknown route, she felt more assured that she was safe. There was less of a confliction in her mind this time as she traveled along a familiar path.

With the silence that nestled within the canopy of the trees, Christine felt she should interject her own sound to fill the space. She thought a moment, collecting the stories and songs within her mind, then began with one of the last tales she had learned before leaving Knivsta. It was a sad song, yet Christine thought the tune was so beautiful. It was a harmonious tone, sweeping with emotion from beginning to end. Though she could hardly see what was in front of her with the growing mist, Christine began to recollect the tone's lyric.

"Little Lotte thought of everything and nothing. Like a butterfly she flew about in the gold of the sun. In her golden curls she wore the crown of spring. And her gaze was like the heavens, so bright blue and clear. She wheedled her mother and was true to her doll. She looked at her clothes and her red shoes. But above them all she loved a little bird. Which her father had captured on the snow last Christmas."

It was hard to concentrate on how far she had traveled. Each sprouting tree seemed vastly different as she continued, adding different types and sizes, varying as she journeyed on. The ground was covered by leaves and twigs, reminding Christine that winter was quickly approaching. She could feel the chill even now gripping around her.

"…Soon it learned to eat from her red lips. It knew her voice and her light step. And thanked its friend with many a lively song. At the end it sat sad and silent in its cage. It heard spring calling from the green forest. Then it spread it wings and wanted to fly away; But little Lotte smiled - alas, she understood it not."

Mist began to fill between the trees, snaking around Christine as she tried to take note of each trunk she passed. It coiled around her form, embracing her tightly as her body ached from the chill. Her breath puffed around her face as she continued on.

"…One morning she ran early to the bird with food. And laughed loudly on the way and was so delighted; But, when she came to the cage, then she forgot her song. The dear bird lay outstretched on the bottom stiff and long. She took it out carefully and kissed it so tenderly; But it remained cold and lifeless, - it was not a joke."

Christine wrapped her arms around herself, keeping her mind focused on the warmth her body provided her. It seemed the further she continued, the colder it grew. The presence of the gathering mist only made the matter worse as the vapors rested against Christine's cloak. The water droplets were soaking into the cloth, making her load heavier and heavier. All she could think to do was continue on; singing.

"…But sorrow had written its first rune in her heart And marked its image deep on her soft features No longer did it disappear with her last tear. She thought of her mother, but not as lightly as before, And thus new worlds dawned behind the black veil of grief: Like a look at the sea from the dark fortress of the coast. So the possibilities of life are revealed by the child's first sorrow."

Behind the shade of a massive tree, Christine saw the shadow of a figure peering out toward her, curious to her presence. She stopped beside a birch tree and glared into the mist, trying to make out the shape before her. It was much like a human, with broad shoulders proudly hoisting up a rounded head with such dominance. As Christine continued to stare at the figure, it shied away, tucking back behind the cover of the tree trunk for comfort.

"Please," Christine cried to it. "Come back!"

Christine started for the tree, but watched the figure breeze past her. She could feel the figure wisp behind her, blowing up the hair lying across her shoulders. She turned around to find nothing.

It was a strange reminder of the night before.

Christine stopped herself from following the trail of the shadow, for it very well may have been the same ghoul from the night before. She remained alert, keeping her senses aware of what was happening around her. All was quiet and she could no longer feel the cold air.

Nothing stirred.

Perhaps it was all her imagination. Could it be that she had traveled too far?

As Christine turned back toward the direction of the village, another flight of air churned the ends of her cloak. She remained calm, forcing herself to continue looking forward rather than to react. Instead, she slowly pivoted around to look further into the forest, in the direction the shadow traveled.

Standing before her was what appeared to be the figure of a man cloaked entirely in the furs of animals. His shoulders hoisted a magnificent stag, skinned cleanly to drape down his back. His chest and neck was concealed beneath the furs of two rabbits, while fox covered his arms. The head of the red stag came up over his head like a hood, while a piece of bark entwined with leaves was fashioned into a mask across his face, blacking out any features for Christine to make out.

Christine stared in reverence at his majesty, stunned that a man could appear so noble. He seemed to float over the ground he stood on, with no piece of his skin showing beneath the elaborate attire. She wanted so badly to walk over and remove the hood and mask, to reveal his beauty, but Christine remained struck with awe, trembling in admiration.

"Odin?" Christine breathed.

The figure did not falter. He stared at her, as if waiting to hear her speak once more.

Christine squinted her eyes, trying to better view the brilliant figure before her, and whispered the name of the god of the forest once more. The hooded form seemed to seep away from Christine, shying back into the wood as if it had been misdirected.

"Forgive me," Christine said, holding her hand up in the air to halt the figure. "I was mistaken."

The emotion of the cloak seemed to somehow speak to Christine, for she knew that it was a relief for her to say it. The shoulders, if they really were such, seemed to relax and the arms – which surely embodied some form of hands beneath the sleeves of the cloak – and dropped casually back to its sides.

Both figures in the night waited for the other to make any motion.

Christine feared to provoke the figure, thus driving it away from her. She was intrigued by his presence as she watched its form hover over the ground. He was peaceful, yet filled with such sadness. Even without being able to make out his face, Christine was sure that there was something unique about the figure in the cloak.

"Are you the angel who sang so beautiful?" the figure asked.

"Oh, no," Christine said. "I am certainly not an angel."

The cloaked figure did not move, but continued looking with his faceless form in her direction; she could feel his eyes on her. He seemed unable to comprehend her denial. It seemed clear that this figure in the cloak was not human. He existed in the air, lifted from the ground like a cloud hovering over the ocean. While his shape suggested that of a man as well as his voice, there was something distant in the way that he spoke. His presence seemed only partially existent to Christine.

"I am a person," Christine offered.

"A living human?" the voice asked her.

"Why, yes," Christine said.

Anxiety seemed to distress the figure as his form swayed back and forth, as if he wished to flee. It seemed human contact was forbidden to him, or at least discouraged, for he turned toward the trees and nearly slipped away from her.

"Wait," Christine called to him. "Y-you are a fantôme, are you not?"

The cloaked shadow stopped beside the tree, keeping his back toward Christine. He was certainly not what Christine had expected of a fantôme, yet he reminded her of description of the underjordiske. Unlike the underjordiske, this figure showed not only attention to beauty, but also fear. Not like the underjordiske at all and nothing like the ghoul she had encountered.

"Are you the one who saved me last night?"

The figure turned back toward Christine.

"Who returned me home from the woods?"

Now the cloak was moving closer toward her, examining her as if he could not believe the words she spoke. Christine remained still, holding her breath as the air around her turned cold. Her arms trembled as she tried to look beneath the mask, finding the creature that was concealed beneath it. All she found was a void of blackness blocking any hint of his features.

"You made the song?" the figure asked.

"I was singing; yes," Christine said quietly.

The fantôme seemed displeased with Christine's answer, yet remained close to her side.

"Yes," he said. "I believe a demon had taken hold of your heart. You would have been consumed had I not interfered."

"You are unsure?" Christine asked.

"Memory does not stay long for my type. We are only aware of the space around us," the fantôme said. "But I do remember the beautiful song."

"Then it was you who saved my life," Christine said, bowing respectfully toward the fantôme.

"Yet, with no reward," the fantôme said solemnly.

The fantôme drifted away from her after making his statement, as if he was finished with their encounter. Christine felt unease in hearing his declaration, feeling that perhaps bringing it up had been a mistake. She reached out toward him to apologize, but retracted as he turned toward her.

"Forgive me," the fantôme said. "I had only hoped…"

"What?" Christine implored.

"It matters not," the fantôme said.

Christine did not wish to pry on any topic of conversation with a spirit. It was already a miracle that she had not found herself in more danger, but she couldn't allow herself to leave now that she had the chance to speak with a fantôme. Her questions were being answered, yet she wondered at what cost. She tried to make her matter of speaking light.

"Are you– er, were you from Perros?" Christine tried.

"I know nothing from my previous life. I wander only in yearning."

"What is it you yearn for?" Christine asked.

"Peace," the fantôme said longingly.

It was clear that the poor creature was hurting. His tone was full of sadness and he even looked off longingly toward the sky, waiting for some manifestation to occur. Christine looked toward him in questioning, wondering what it would take to grant him such peace.

"I long to be accepted to the afterlife; to the Maker," the fantôme said.

"What grants acceptance to the Maker?" Christine asked.

"An angel presenting themselves," the fantôme said.

Christine now wished that she could be that angel he had hoped she was. It seemed a sad misfortune that such a being could be left to wander an eternity, hoping for something that may never come to them.

"So it is all true then," Christine said more to herself. "The spirits of Perros are real."

"Is this 'Perros' where you are from?" the fantôme asked.

"No. I mean, it is now, but we—my father and I traveled down from…"

The fantôme stared so intently. Even without seeing his eyes, Christine could feel his stare burning her skin. His presence was so cold…

"I suppose it matters not," Christine said with a quiet laugh. "Yes, Perros is where I now live."

The night seemed silent around them, as if hushed to observe the entire encounter. Christine could still not decide if she were safe or risking more than she could handle again. Though the fantôme seemed cordial enough, there was no saying if there would be another strike from a ghoul or any other sort of spirit. How far was she willing to push her luck? Yet, Christine had come to the woods seeking information. She knew she couldn't leave without learning something more valuable to her.

"I must ask," Christine said. "do all fantômes have no memory?"

"Not any of us do," the fantôme said. "If we are to be saved, it is said that our past lives will be revealed to us."

"Do you know why you have gained no access to the afterlife?" Christine asked.

"No," the fantôme said.

The shoulders of the fantôme seemed to fall forward, wounded by his own words of condemnation. It is known that the underjordiske of Christine's home kingdom were the souls of deceased humans who had committed horrible deeds during his life time. As Christine looked onto the fantôme of Perros, she couldn't believe that he could be connected to such acts. His sorrow was evident and she hoped that somehow, he could be granted access to the afterlife.

"I am so sorry," Christine said.

The fantôme looked to her again, slowly advancing toward her. Christine suppressed a shudder as he circled around her slowly, letting the furs of his cloak trace against her side. He was tall and slender, but any other feature of his former self was concealed beneath his cover. Even within the close proximity, Christine could feel nothing but a frigid air radiating off him, coaxing her to wrap her arms around herself for warmth.

The fantôme glided away from her, ushering her with his hand to follow.

"You are fatigued," he said. "You must rest."

"I suppose I should return home," Christine said.

"You are much too far from the village to return before morning," the fantôme said. "I shall show you a place for shelter I have found. You will be safe."

Christine looked behind her, staring in the direction of the village of Perros. She knew she was far away from home, yet what repercussions would she face by staying longer in the woods. Had she not gained the information she longed for?

But as she looked back toward the fantôme, she saw his hand reaching out toward her, beckoning her to reach out and join him in his domain of the forest.

Christine slowly walked toward him and looked up to him, awaiting his guidance.

The fantôme wrapped his arm around her shoulders, sending an intense chill throughout her body. Christine gasped, trying to suppress her astonishment behind her hand which flew to her lips. His hand, which once rested against her shoulder, traveled through her body, coming out of the other side of her chest. Christine looked up the fantôme in shock, unsure at what had happened.

"Forgive me," the fantôme cried in horror. "My touch can only be granted upon acceptance. I did not mean to frighten you."

The fantôme made an exaggerated gesture to follow behind him instead, but Christine looked to the sleeves of the cloak. Beneath them she knew were hands of a spirit, trapped within his deteriorated soul.

"No," Christine said, holding her hand out toward the fantôme for him to take. "I do not fear you."

The fantôme looked toward her hand.

Slowly, his hand reached out to take ahold of hers without any interruption. Though cold, Christine kept her mind active, reminding herself that she was not afraid and that she did accept the fantôme's guidance.

As the fantôme pulled at her arm and began walking her even deeper into the forest, Christine refused to look backward. Her mind was steady, with the reassurance of the hand still gripped tightly onto hers despite the cold.

They journeyed like this for some time before the fantôme led her toward an extravagant tree. It's large base and tangled roots reached out from the ground, denying its constraint within the soil. The fantôme pulled Christine to the far side of it, revealing a wide opening which burrowed down into the ground. Christine stared into the dark abyss, curious at what might be inside.

The fantôme glided into the open space, effortlessly flying through the inside of the hollow before emerging again, dusting off his hands. He gestured toward the tree and offered Christine a look inside.

"It is clean and dry," he said. "A fine place for resting the night."

Christine crawled on her knees to peer inside, finding that the space was in fact very clean. It dropped down into the ground, making for a spacious retreat for her to sleep and even nearly stand up in. Christine peered out from the shelter and looked up to the fantôme hovering just beside the entrance.

"Sleep well," he told her. "You shall be under my protection tonight."

Christine nodded wearily, feeling the fatigue now rush over her. It had been a long night and she would be better off traveling by daylight back to her cottage.

"I will not be present come morning, but I shall escort you back to the village once night is with us again."

Christine gave the fantôme on watch a polite smile and dropped back into the hollow of the tree, resting her arm under her head as a pillow and wrapping her cloak around her as a blanket. She curled her legs up into her chest and reassured herself that the fantôme would indeed guard her the rest of the night.

With the fantôme protecting her outside of her space, Christine slept a dreamless sleep; peaceful and heavy.