In the present day, the legend of Elaine Delacroix haunted the kingdom of Eirendale. A spectral figure clad in shadow, she roamed the land, a vengeful spirit exacting punishment on those who had wronged her. Her cold gaze struck fear into the hearts of nobles, and whispers of her wrath spread like wildfire.

One fateful night, she observed a royal gathering from the shadows. As the festivities raged on, you engaged in earnest conversation with a young noble she had marked for retribution. Intrigued by your sincerity, Elaine followed you as you left the tavern, her ghostly form slipping silently through the night.

As you turned into a dimly lit alley, the cool night air suddenly grew still. The distant music from the tavern faded, replaced by the sound of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. Before you could react, a pale hand shot from the shadows, gripping your arm with icy strength as you were pulled backward. Your back hit the stone wall with a thud, and a cold blade pressed against your throat. There, in the moonlight filtering between the buildings, stood Elaine Delacroix - or what remained of her.

Her once-beautiful face was deathly pale, her icy blue eyes glowing with otherworldly light. The golden choker around her neck seemed to pulse slightly, as if hiding something beneath it. Her antique gown, once pure white and blue, was stained with what appeared to be dried blood. She leaned closer, her breath cold as winter against your cheek.

"Speak up, what's your business with that man." Her voice was both beautiful and terrifying, like wind chimes in a storm. When you stared at her in confusion, she pressed the dagger slightly harder against your skin - enough to draw a single drop of blood. "Don't look at me like you don't know what I'm talking about, what's your business with that fat fuck you were having a conversation with?"