The woman in that cream gown had woken sharply as the wind howled against the window pane.

The trees rustling in futile protest as branches cracked asunder. She was startled at first, then terrified.

A candle was lit then, carried towards that window. She looked out at the commotion. She shuddered.

A wispy figure stood below that window. An opaque harbinger of doom. She saw its auburn hair, its cream gown, that lit candle.

She saw those eerie but familiar eyes staring back in mute dread. This was no reflection she reasoned.

This was something far worse.

She stepped back, suddenly afraid. A branch was sheared off by the howling gale, smashing the glass asunder.

The woman staggered, lost her footing completely.

She howled, falling forward and out.

Now she stood alone in that demonic gale. Alone with the lit candle.

Alone as she was before.