Cut to the rolling green slopes of a hillside graveyard, the spare insect
sounds lending only tranquility to the misty grey summer.  A messenger
advances, confused, amongst the worn stones and trees twisted with age.  He
glances from the unpeopled hill to a letter in his hand, his stride
marking his errand as urgent or absurd.

He approaches what was sought, a very old grave stricken with ivy
under the shade of an oak tree.  To ensure, he checks the etching
versus the mark of the envelope:

Madeleine Arcana
Plot 56
Trinity Cemetary
New York, NY

Before he has time to dismiss the errand to futility, as his mind had
played over in speculation, he notices a fair lady standing by the
stone.  She is dressed in a cascading white dress, of a fashion long
since nostalgic, but as new and radiant as the morning sun.
The lady bore raven hair and carried a white parasol at her side.

"Pardon me," the messenger speaks in surprise, "I didn't think there'd
be anyone here."

For reply, the lady merely casts a coy smile.

"I have a message," the man says, holding out the envelope, "Do you
know Madeleine Arcana?"

"She is my sister," speaks the lady.

"Were you close?" says the man, turning an eye to the gravestone.

"She died," says the lady, "Before I was born."

Of sudden, the skies open with a thunderclap and a shower pours down
upon them.  

"Your parasol," says the messenger, gesturing.

The lady in white puts up her parasol.  The man, looking closely,
notices the rain falling through as if it were not there; indeed,
falling through the lady as were she transparent.  He opens his mouth
in question, but at that moment a gust of mist and rain blows through,
obscuring site, and when the grayness unwinds the messenger finds
himself standing alone.  The rain is diminished.  Remembering the
envelope, he pulls it close to open it, but a sudden wind tears it
from his grasp, sending it away through rain and wind until it is lost
from sight.