I slipped on to my gown, trails of saliva slid from my dribbling mouth. I clumsily undid the silver clasp from my hair. The alcohol clouding my head, as I stared absently at the whitewashed walls. Moonlight streamed from above, straining the shadows over my features. Around my bed, candles flickered, playing with the darkness at my feet.

I swung my legs on to the bed, as I turned my head towards the just as blank ceiling. Glass gave a resounding clatter, destroying the silence. Shards of glass flew, glinting teasingly, revealing the almost too smooth edges.

The candles blew out in synchronization. Engulfing me in almost pitch blackness. The light was the thin shaft of moon light from above.

Broken. Both the glass and me. Played. Like the candles. Hope. Long. Lost.

The moonlight shone teasingly. I could see it. But I could not reach it. It shone there, beautiful as pretty as ever.

Just like me.

I knew I wasn't pretty. Long thin strands blonde hair hung loose. Piercing blue eyes, hiding the sadness of the decades in the whitewashed room. Bow lips trying to smile its way out of its insanity. High cheekbones and a Greek nose, only to see hollowness and skin and bone.

I am a skeleton, in and out.

Nobody has ever seen me for decades, maybe even centuries. Time has lost track in this plain cell. Not that I expected anything to be extravagant. But it was plain. Just a chair, a bed, a door and a window. The window was up in the ceiling, depicting a single sky, day and night, a few clouds on a cyan background. The door had no handle nor lock. Well for the matter, it was made of moon steel and was enchanted against me.

In my prime, I was a powerful mage, second to only the Great Savin himself. I was what many commoners would say invincible. But they did not know, I too was a commoner, a beggar myself. A poor little girl scavenging through the bins for leftovers. But now, I was gaunt and weak and magic depleted. I could barely hold carry a chair for half a minute. I wasn't what I was however long ago.

I am a ghost to what I was.

I was powerful. Years and decades ago. But no longer. The only power left in was my imprint. And the imprint was not necessarily a good one for all. I had done what I thought was right, but yet some will forever measure me as a devil, a dragon slayer, a master of massacres. But all that was done wrong, was thought as right. At that time. But no longer.

When I was a young mage, I bought hope to all those around me. I did. Until someone came bought a different hope. A hope that was in its way, more promising than mine. In the end, it didn't matter. In the end they found enough hope to end the war. And that was enough. But it wasn't enough for some, they believed it was me, the little girl who went through the scraps to survive, was the one responsible for the bloodshed of war, the death of their families and friends.

I was and am a legend, in a way.

I don't why I was in this tiny cell. It didn't matter, but in a way, it did.

I was a skeleton, a ghost and a legend, because I was in this tiny whitewashed cell.

But that didn't matter for the world.

But it did to me.

Because I am no longer part of the world.