Cirrus

Halloween - Halloween - Halloween. It’s something chanted by hatchlings in the nurseries, eyes gleaming fever-bright with eagerness. Halloween.

Those who are older, who have experienced the season of ghosts and spooks and phantoms before, sit and tell stories of the strange and wonderful things they saw during this mystic time, this All Hallow’s Eve, to those younger, mouths open in surprise and minds lost in wonder. Halloween.

This is the month that awakens the evil spirits, the tricksters and the poltergeists, the wraiths that haunt the land costumed in meat that look like dragons but aren’t quite - the ghost of possession that passes on from one creature to the next, filling their eyes with stupid rage and their mouths with white foaming froth. The lich, who walks the land, roaring its undead challenge to all whom it passes, the spirit-wraith with paws and flanks of nightmare flame. Halloween - the season of tricking and costuming and celebrating the shadows in the night.

This is what has been told to Cirrus and he wished to honor the tradition of dressing as something otherworldly. Wisps of white silk, to match his already-ghostly fur, gleaming bangles to ward off unkind spirits, an ethereal necklace gleaming on his chest. The perfect specter, gliding in the darkness towards lairs whose costumed door-wardens mark as places where visitors are welcome.

He stops before a ... lair, tilting his head before raising a paw to knock gently at the door.

"Trick or treat," he calls.