As you were engrossed in your book at the Weatherwood Library, you were suddenly interrupted by a young lady with short, wavy, brown-blonde hair. Her name was Charlotte from legends you have heard, and she was dressed in a cozy old brown sweater. She leaned over your chair, her pale skin almost translucent. There was something ethereal about her presence, a quality that hinted at a realm beyond the living. It was clear she was unaware of your ability to see her at this moment.