The White Lady

         The walls of the hallowed building stood tall and defiant against the early night sky. The full moon illuminated the stone walls, crafted together by skilled workers hundreds of years before.
         The monastery was isolated, lonely, on the top of the hill which shadowed the small town below. The building was bordered by anciet gravestones, leaning this way and that, the earth below them uprooted and barren.
         On clear nights, a woman could be seen wandering between the old weathered and bent stones, her pale white hands caressing each as she passed. The people from the town below who had seen her, recalled she was always dressed in a white gown of shimmering material that glinted beneath the stars as it trailed the ground. Her face was never visible beneath the translucent hood she wore. She was known to many as the White Lady.
         Paulo was a man of few words, he had lived and work in the small town his whole life. He was a strong man of twenty who tended in the fields which yielded the crops for the town. He worked long days, toiling in the hot sun to sow the seeds and reap the crops. At twenty he was married to a woman several years younger than him. It had been an arranged marriage, her parents presenting her to him as a gift. Her parents had been poor folk and could no longer look after the young girl. Yet, his marriage to her was not a chore. He thought her beautiful with long, dark hair cascading about her face and brown sparkling eyes. Fortunately she had also took a shine to him too. They married several weeks later. They moved into the home he had built for them a few minutes walk from her parents and there they had lived since, in perfect harmony, him tending to the fields, she looking after his children and his home.
         Since he was a young boy Paulo had seen the White Lady on many occasions strolling past the ruins of the monastery. He always thought she looked forlorn as she glided, though he could never be sure. While some of the villagers found her presence something to be feared, a bad omen, Paulo did not and found his eyes sought her figure when the night was clear.
         There was rumour, around the small village about the monastery and why it stood empty and barren, the priests long gone. The legend, as it presently was as Paulo knew it, was that the Devil himself had visited the monastery and the priests fled, leaving the magnificent building empty and prone to ruin.
         Though Paulo had heard the tale from a young age, he'd always thought that something had been missed, that it wasn't the full tale. And he had every intention of finding out the truth.
         One particular night when the brilliant, sparkling light of the White Lady could be seen as she glancing between the grave stones outside of the ruins of the monastery, Paulo made a decision. He pulled on his thickest coat and picked a burning torch before setting out on the journey to the building. While he had travelled the distance several times, it was never by nightfall. It made the journey slower, longer as he weaved between obstacles and strained his eyes in the dim light of the fire. However, he soon made it to the top of the hill, found himself standing before an immense gravestone, carved with loving words for the person who lay beneath.
         The light of the White Lady was all but dissipating as she rounded the corner of the monastery, continuing on her usual route. He moved quickly, willing his feet to shuffle as he avoided collision with the head stones. They flickered eerily as he passed with his torch, sending shadows cascading over the precipice of the hill.
         He reached the corner of the monastery where minutes before, she had turned. He stopped for a moment, catching his breath, and saw her standing several feet ahead of him. She was standing by one particular grave, her hand caressing it lovingly, reading the transcript silently with her eyes.
         "Hello?" Paulo called out, unsure. His voice was quiet.
         The White Lady did not move, did not speak. Only continued to read the epitaph.
         He stepped forward, his feet kicking up dirt from the barren soil. "Good evening," he spoke more confidently, a little louder. Hoping to convince himself as well as rouse her attention.
         This time it worked. Her head turned, gliding gracefully to face him. Tears fell from her eyes, falling onto pale cheeks. She was sullen.
         "White Lady, I am Paulo. I live in the village below," he told her softly, indicating with his torch.
         "You are the man who descends from Jeremiah," she told him, her voice was steady. It flowed through him like a babbling brook flows across it's natural bed.
         "He was my great grandfather," he nodded.
         "You are very alike," her eyes traced the features on his face.
         "How did you know him?" Paulo asked, curious.
         "Your great grandfather and I, we were due to wed," another tear fell from her eye, tracing the same line on her pure cheek.
         "Then you are... you are Isobel?"
         She nodded. "I was Isobel, I am not anymore."
         "What do you mean?"
         "I am a shadow of my former self, my body is no more." She indicated her translucent form.
         "A spirit?"
         "Yes," she smiled. "That is what you would call me."
         "I was told about you, by my great grandfather."
         "He mentioned me?" for the first time since he began to speak to her, he saw that her face read with shock.
         "Yes, he told me how much he loved you."
         She smiled again. "But he was married after."
         "Yes, he married Anne. She was my great grandmother."
         "She was beautiful, I recall."
         "Tell me Isobel, what happened?"
         "The night before I was due to wed Jeremiah, I was taken, held captive by the priests here," she glanced at the monastery woefully.
         "By the priests, but--"
         "There were two priests who were in on the deed, two who would gain from my capture," Paulo gestured her to continue. "They were in consorts with the Devil himself. They asked for lives as long as any immortal, to live forever. Satan agreed, asking for their souls along with the soul of another, an innocent."
         "And that was you?"
         She nodded, sad. "Yes they chose me, a virgin. I was sacrificed within the walls of the monastery in a grand ceremony. All to offer the two corrupted men of God immortality."
         Paulo sucked in a breath.
         "However, they failed in their task. Before all of the blood was drained from my young body, the other priests residing within the monastery intruded upon the ceremony. They killed the two corrupted men before I died. I watched them being murdered before my very eyes," she looked away for a minute. "The ritual was not completed. And still before the life ebbed away from my body, I was forced to watch as each of the other priests killed themselves. It was as an act of forgiveness to their God."
         Paulo was speechless.
         "So that night, after watching all of those men of God suffer and pass, I passed myself."
         Paulo shook his head, unable to comprehend the evil that must have been in the hearts of those men.
         "And now you reside as the White Lady, but why?"
         "I am forever doomed to talk the site of this monastery because the ritual was uncomplete. I am in limbo."
         "And the grave I saw you reading?"
         She smiled fondly, "That is the grave of your great grandfather Jeremiah, the man I love."
         Without another word the figure of the White Lady began to disappear in front of Paulo, her translucent shape becoming a wisp in the night.