We all look the same in the dark: shapeless, tall, scary.

That’s what allowed to be herself, no one was looking for the dead princess. That’s why the maids were scared of that wing. They thought it was a ghost, someone weird shape in the dark that they could attach their fears to.

I wish that was it, they were just scared of the dark. That there wasn’t a remnant of the past hiding in the south wing.

But they weren’t scared of the dark. No, they were scared of her.

The Princess of old, my husbands ancient tenth great grandmother, the woman who has scared everyone on the castle, with her hair of ebony, pale as snow skin, lips as red as blood.

Sown White.

We all look the same in the dark, that why she is scary.