Here is my response to the most recent prompt from The Fiction Dealer.
The grass was cold and wet under my feet and the night was chill and crisp. I frantically looked everywhere for her as I ducked under low-hanging branches and strode among the gravestones.
I saw her at the edge of the forest, just inside the wrought-iron fence. She wore white, just like the day I buried her. Her skin was shining, almost translucent, and her lips were as red as fresh blood.
I ran toward her and wrapped my arms around her. I kissed her, slow and soft and deep. She was cold, yet I had never felt such warmth.