Here I have incorporated my current life in the UK, and a story from my origin country Estonia.
Hope you enjoy!
The Midnight Vapour of Haapsalu
On the eve of Halloween, when the wind hissed through Winchester’s crooked lanes and the church bells tolled thirteen by mistake, Elara Vapour lit the final candle in her back room. The shelves were lined with old potion bottles, curled herbs, and dusty spellbooks from markets that didn’t exist anymore.
At the centre of the room, on a pedestal of oak and wax drips, stood her newest creation — a sleek black-and-gold device said to blend technology and witchcraft in equal measure. It gleamed in the candlelight, a tiny screen glowing 80 W like a heartbeat.
But this was no ordinary invention. Tonight, Elara meant to test it — and with it, summon the spirit that had haunted her dreams for weeks. She placed beside it an ancient vial of dark liquid, labelled in fading ink:
“Kaugelöö – Pumpkin & Salt of Haapsalu.”
Her apprentice, wide-eyed, whispered, “That’s the White Lady’s blend, isn’t it? The one they banned from sale in Tallinn?”
Elara smirked. “Banned, yes. Forgotten? Never.”
Centuries ago, in Haapsalu’s castle by the Baltic Sea, there lived a maiden who fell in love with a monk. When their secret was discovered, she was sealed alive within the chapel walls. Each Halloween, locals say, her ghost rises, her tears mixing with sea mist to drift across Estonia’s coast — a scent of sorrow and salt that no candle can imitate.
Elara had travelled there one stormy summer to gather it herself — a wisp of that spectral fragrance, trapped in glass by moonlight. And now, with the veil between worlds thinning, she meant to release it.
She filled the device, whispered an incantation, and pressed the button.
A hiss escaped. Then, a coil of vapour twisted upward, golden and alive, tasting faintly of pumpkin, cinnamon, and autumn smoke. The skull beside it cracked a grin as if recognising an old friend.
Suddenly, the room grew cold. The mirrors clouded. From the swirling vapour emerged a woman draped in white — face pale, eyes vast as moonlight reflected on water.
“You have called me,” she murmured, her voice rippling like the tide over stones. “And for that, I grant you my final breath.”
Elara stepped forward, her candle trembling. “I only wished to taste your story — to turn sorrow into sweetness.”
The White Lady smiled, her form flickering between shadow and smoke. She took a long draw from the glowing device, and the scent of salt and spice filled the air, as if the Baltic itself had found its way into the shop.
For a heartbeat, time stood still. Then, with a sigh soft as a wave’s retreat, the Lady vanished — leaving behind a swirl of glowing vapour shaped like a heart.
The device screen faded to black. The skull stopped grinning. And from somewhere distant — perhaps the sea, perhaps the spirit world — came a whisper:
“In every breath, remember me.”
Outside, the church bells rang true again — twelve this time — and a faint mist curled through Winchester’s streets, carrying a hint of pumpkin spice and legend.
