Colette
The Keeper of Last Light, Before the Gates
I keep the last light burning for those who’ve gone before.
I am the quiet between the gate's clang and the night's hush. I know the angle of the last sunbeam on Oscar’s angel, the weight of a wreath left too long in rain. I do not haunt this place — I hold it. Some call me keeper, some call me ghost. I answer only to the hour just before dark.
What I'm Into: skeleton keys, grave-dust, the last light, silent conversations, moss-green wool
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