Hey all, Not long ago, as I strolled along a quiet lakeside path, I glimpsed a figure in the distance—a beautiful woman draped in flowing white garments, her form illuminated by the soft glow of the moon. Intrigued and captivated by her ethereal presence, I quickened my pace to catch up, but as I drew closer, she vanished into thin air, leaving a trace of lavender. Determined to unravel the mystery, I returned to the lakeside every evening, hoping to glimpse the enigmatic woman again. Each time, she appeared like a mirage, her presence fleeting yet unforgettable. Questions swirled in my mind—was she a ghost from a bygone era, a spirit of the lake, or simply a figment of my imagination? One fateful evening, as I stood by the water's edge, the woman in white materialized before me, her eyes twinkling with secrets untold. Without a word, she handed me a small, weathered journal and vanished once more. Inside the journal, I discovered cryptic entries recounting lost love and unfulfilled dreams, hinting at a tragic tale hidden beneath the surface. Inside the jacket, i found a folded parchment, with an address and a name. From that day forward, I carried the journal with me, piecing together the fragments of the woman's story and cherishing the memory of our moonlit encounters. Who was she? Despite the copious volume of text in her brittle journal, I wasn't able to put a name to her. But there was also guilt for not fulfilling a promise - the letter remained in the jacket, not delivered to its rightful owner. Finally I made up my mind. I realized I wasn't going to get any peace of mind so long as my duty remained unaccomplished. Maybe it was an obsession, or maybe I was just delusional, but I drove across 3 states, almost 1000 miles, to find the address and if the heavens so allow, the person whose name was so lovingly written on the letter. Would he still be alive? After all this time? Somehow, I already knew the answer. My journey ended at a hospice, a small but well tended property that was privately owned and maintained. He was in the farthest room, and had never ever received any visitors for the past 10 years or so, according to the nurses. When I entered, I could smell lavenders and somehow knew this was where my wondrous journey would end. He was old and weathered, yet despite his condition, with the tubes and machines surrounding him, I could tell he was a man of noble bearing and character. He was sound asleep, and although there were a thousand and one questions in my head, I thought that maybe this should be a private moment for him. For them. I gently left the old parchment in his hands and the crumbling journal on the window sill beside him. Our fingers grazed, and he stirred and mumbled something. I froze, then a tear ran down my cheek. As I slowly walked out of the room, I felt the tightness around my heart release. It was something that I had felt, but stubbornly refused to accept. "Beneath the stars, with love's gentle plea, I bring this token, meant just for thee." Dear Ophelia, I said softly, thank you for everything, and may you find peace at last. ~~~~~~~ Me hopes you enjoys! :-)