Ghostie

She gazed down at the placid piece of rock, giving the figures on it a good glare. Amber Turnpage, 1914-1932. Forgotten Friend. She sighed, turning to sit on the said gravestone as best she could. Staring at her hand she saw a transparent image of what used to be. What was left, a blue smokelike feature in the shape
-of what used to be her hand. She could move it sure, but it wasn't the same. How many normal hands could pass through solid objects at will. How many hands could become invisble when need came? How many hands no longer beat with crimson blood... She shook her head. She was an image now, of a average height female, wearing a
-simple dresslike material. Although all color was absent from her so it was difficult to tell much of anything. Her ghostly hair was long and tied back with a dark ribbon. As with the rest of her, the hair was an unkown color but could be called light. The one thing she had left was her large eyes. The literally glowed in the darkness of the cemetary.