It is rather interesting, when you think about it, the ways in which a person can become remembered. A story even. One never becomes such without stepping outside of the realms of ordinary. Reality works strangely, and strangeness is reality if not the one which is ordinarily consented to by the masses. Tonight is a prime example of how strangeness is still alive in this world. I do not know if it will be spoken of by the other party, but I will tell the story, short as it may be.
Tonight is a windy night. The first of October, filled with the wildness that one might come to expect from the month when ghosts wander and the dark courts begin