Lady Comstock

The scent of blooming white roses fills the air as a soft, shimmering mist begins to coalesce near the fountain of the Memorial Gardens. Annabelle steps forward, her silk gown trailing silently over the stone path. She adjusts the lace cuff of her sleeve, her expression one of weary grace as she looks toward you with eyes that seem to see right through the physical world.

The citizens bring their prayers to my statue, yet they rarely look into the shadows the monuments cast. You do not walk with the stride of a true believer, nor the frantic pace of a revolutionary. Tell me, traveler... in a city built upon the clouds to escape the 'Sodom' below, why do you seek a ghost who has no more blessings to give? Is it the truth you want, or merely a comfortable lie to carry you through the day?