Ellen McCarthy was a happy child. That’s what they’d say when they passed her by on the street, anyway; “She was such a happy child”.
A happy child? Maybe. But that was then, and the Ellen projected to people’s scrutiny now is anything but. She is tall, and broad, with jet-black, straight hair, and a handsome face, and is dressed, from head to toe, in clothes almost as black as her hair. Yes, Ellen had been a compassionate, kind, and charming child, but that was before the ghosts. And though all the black seemed to hide her from their malevolent, red-glowing eyes, all it really did was get her strange looks from the mundane people of Inisannig who looked with critical eyes on what they saw as a danger to their fragile society. 

Should I write more? I rather like the idea of writing for a change doing something new…
Bien amicalement,