In the far north of Kemmesa, in a small village nestled among centuries-old pine trees, lived an old woman named Maria. Everyone knew her, but few dared speak, for they feared her strange hat, which was more than just a piece of clothing, but a silent bridge to another world.
Once a year, when the moon was in a special position in the sky, Maria would appear in the village square wearing her hat. She would light the candles she carried in her fields, and at that moment, silence would fall. The light would fade, the veil of the worlds would thin, and the living could see silhouettes appearing on the log walls of barns and houses. The villagers, holding their breath, watched the recognizable images of an old man adjusting his hat, children playing with a dog, and other shadows.
The magic wasn't in the summoning, but in the subtlest piercing of the veil between worlds. Maria's hat didn't attract the dead, but merely blurred the line for a moment, allowing those on the other side to glimpse the living and reassure themselves that they were loved and remembered.
As soon as the eastern sky began to lighten, the flame on the hat flickered, heralding the end of the meeting. Maria removed her headdress, and the illusion melted like fog. The bridge collapsed. But in the souls of the people, there remained no pain, only a quiet, luminous sadness and certainty: their loved ones had not disappeared. They were merely waiting for next year to meet them again in the candlelight of the old hat.
