I wasn't a very likely candidate for a photo-shoot. At least - that was what I had maintained before ever setting foot in Inverness. I had lived an unusual life so far, but had managed to stay away from anything involving a camera, save the usual government ID shots, and my civilian wedding photos. I could carry in one small book, all of the photos that had ever been taken of me. Frank and I had lived through experiences, rather than on any social media. Part of me wished that we hadn't, that I had more of him to bring with me now, save the single posed shot of us holding our wedding certificate, outside of a Registry office in Scotland, and the one of him in his full uniform, just before he had deployed.

We had married young. I was only 18, and he 21, but he had joined the army, and was about to be sent away for an indeterminate time. Marriage had felt like the only way to keep ourselves joined. It felt like a promise, from him, that he would return to me, and that I would be waiting. I had gone into a biological sciences degree as a precursor to med school, and essentially minored in history, to keep the memory of my Uncle Lambert safe and close. I had buried myself in my studies, picking up as many useful skills as I could, on top of the barrage of ones Uncle Lamb had inflicted upon me as I grew. That's what kept me busy, and my mind off of my dutiful and absent husband.

I began to realise that although I was busy, I felt a sense of uselessness that stayed with me, looming over me, like the threat of a death sentence. So I had begun to volunteer abroad. It was in those days that I saw my worst sufferings, and discovered my greatest passions. My university roommate, Joe Abernathy - a skilled herbalist, linguist, and journalist, and me, the biomed major with the historical and cultural knowledge, made an incredible team, but during that time, we rarely thought about pictures.

Being trucked around villages in remote and arduous locations were hardly moments for selfies. I believe that once, a tourist had stumbled across us in a village we were helping in Sudan, and had asked for a photograph. Even then, I had asked in return, that I be the one to take the picture. It was if I had unconsciously chosen to remain a ghost.

There were almost no traces of my life in any physical photograph. Perhaps that was the reason I had agreed to this preposterous and unusual activity. Or perhaps it was for Frank.

"You really have the most beautiful smile. If I could, I'd burn it to my retinas, that I could see it all the time."

"You'd be blind then." I had pointed out, sticking my tongue out at him. His picture on the screen had frozen for a moment; the internet was bad where he was.

"I'd be happily blind." he had retorted, and then I was rewarded with a freeze-frame of his own smile. "Seriously though Claire. I'd make a calendar, just of you. You could dress up in different costumes for each month."

"Hmmm... Cupid for February? St Patrick for March, obviously. Perhaps a winter ice queen somewhere? Father Christmas for the holidays..."

"And for April a bunny." he had nodded, quite seriously.

"An Easter bunny?"

"A playboy one!" He had laughed.

That had been one of our last conversations. A week later I had received a letter. It was the letter that no army wife ever expects, and yet is always waiting for. Joe had driven me to the hospital that night. He had been so worried about me that he had cancelled everything he was doing for the next month. I had sat, numb, and unaware of what was happening for a long while.

Frank Randall was dead. I was a widow. I had felt barely married, and now I had to come to terms with the loss of the man I had promised the rest of my life to. I had triple-timed my workload, and my sleep was minimal. Joe had to physically trick me into arriving at his house for Christmas dinner. I had become a mirror of the person I used to be. A perfect robot. Perfect diet, perfect exercise, perfect work record. Nothing broke me. Until I was sat down beside Joe Abernathy's good old grandmother.

I couldn't describe her to save my life, except that she looked like a much older, wiser, and female version of Joe.

"You ain't lost a spouse. You lost a life. All that potential. Everything you thought you was gonna be is gone. That's who you're grieving. Not him." I had recoiled in shock and horror, unsure what to say to the awful old woman spinning her selfish tales. "It's alright child. Everything you thought was going to be with him. It's all gone. You've lost two lives, not one. But now you're throwing away more than that. You're killing your new life. Each time the good Lord closes a door, he opens a window. He mighta pushed you out of it, but you're going down that new path now. Except that you're kicking and screaming instead of being grateful that there ain't a dead end for you too."

"Nana..." Joe had warned.

"Don't Nana me. You say this girl is your sister? Does she even know you have a lady in your life? I'd bet not."

I had blinked, quietly stunned as I looked at Joe. He hadn't told me. With the amount of time we spent together I should have at least noticed.

"Oh Joe... I'm so sorry."

It was only after that conversation that I'd managed to snap back into reality. I finally cried, although it had been at least a year since Frank had died. I had cried right there, at his family Christmas. Nana had smiled like she'd pulled back the rock that revealed Jesus. It was in fact, Nana's idea to come out here. Frank hadn't wanted me to come alone, and so we, and his gorgeous girlfriend Anna, had traveled from London, to Scotland. It was where I had met Frank. Where I had married him. It seemed only right that it was here I should say goodbye to him. We had strayed into the Scottish Highlands to get as far away from anything that could keep me busy as possible. It only half worked.

We were staying with a Reverend Wakefield, who had lit up at the sound of my name.

"Claire Randall? You wouldn't be at all related to Black Jack Randall would you? He's something of a story-like villain up here in this region. Our own little oddity you might say!"

He had begun to spin a tale of wonder about the good - or rather not so good - Captain Jonathan Wolverton Randall, and how no matter what complaints were lodged against him, he had been promoted, or moved around to better commands with more prospect of pilfering, rape, thievery and other general disorderly conduct.

"I've always thought that he might have had a prominent beneficiary, someone to keep him safe, and out of the reach of the law, but can't prove it to save the life of me."

"And you think this man is related to me? Or to my husband?"

"I'm a historian, my dear. I love delving into mysteries. It's only been a little over 200 years, I'm sure we could trace the lineage!"

And that was how I had spent my holiday. Joe and Anna had left the Reverend and I pouring over old books, and traipsing across old ruins. He had driven me to Fort William, and to a nearby Keep called Leoch. Whenever we passed buildings, or even stones of note, he'd chip in words of knowlegde. Here the English ran ambushes, here the Scotts could have taken refuge. Here was the field on which Prestonpans was fought. Here was Culloden, the end of all. I had collected some herbs and flowers, but mostly, tried to piece together everything I could have discovered about Frank's family, and the time period, in order. The Reverend was a calming, and perplexing man, full to the brim of information. He kept my mind free and busy. Something I found exceptionally funny was that despite his religion, he was still an observer of a number of pagan rituals.

"Superstition is ripe in the Highlands my dear. You will never find such a blending of old and new as you do here. Ghosts run awry, the wee folk are seen on a daily. It's all I can do to keep a saucer of milk on the step by the church to remain in favour of the faeries. Else, I'll never see half my patrons again."

It was that conversation that had sparked Anna's interests. I had gotten to know her better over the journey together, and found her a fitting match for Joe. She was as full of wit as he, and as much imagination as he had roots. She was an arts major, into photography, makeup, theatrical arts, and even designed her own costumes for events like halloween. She - with the help of Mrs. Graham, the Reverend's housekeeper - had delved into the stories of the wee folk, and the superstitions she could use in her own artwork and portfolio. It was with that interest that I found myself in the precarious situation I was now in.

Anna had gone mad. In a few days she had whipped up an incredible costume, using me as the mannequin for most of it. I wore it more than my own clothing for one day, while the Reverend and I talked history, she sewed details, and fitted, and hemmed the dress until it fit like a glove. It was the lightest material I had ever worn, and outside of the warm fireside, or perhaps on a breeze-filled beach, would never be worn in public. It may as well have been a mosquito net, so light and open. It flowed like chiffon and shone like silk. It was whiter than clouds and I was afraid to even scratch in it.

"What look exactly are you going for?" I had asked. The Reverend had just turned in for the night, and she had had me remove undergarments to ensure it fit exactly right, without the presence of a man. I could almost - but not quite - see my nipples through it. "I think you need more fabric up here."

"White Witch. Or maybe faerie queen. I haven't decided yet whether I want to do your eyes or ears. And I do not. It's fine."

"This must have cost a fortune." I complained. "And as soon as I get cold I'll be carving stone there's so little between my breast and the world."

"Meh." She shrugged. That was not an answer, to either question. I knew that Joe wasn't poor, and certainly wasn't the type to marry for money, but Anna was - colloquially speaking - loaded. This costume was probably a fun project with some pocket money. But the boob thing was still an issue.

"Here, I also have these. Most of these are mine, but I did get a few for the occasion. And some I had bought here on holiday anyway. Two silver anklets, some arm bangles, a delicate leaf ring, and a teardrop diamond necklace later, and she had decided that we were going for the 'White witch' look.

"What exactly is a 'white lady'?"

"A White Witch is a good witch. Like Glinda from Wizard of Oz."

"She was much pinker than this." I pointed out. "And less naked like."

"Yeah, well traditionally they were mystical healers. According to Mrs. Graham anyway. Women good at the natural arts of healing - much like you - selfless, all that blah-de-blah. Often persecuted as witches. I've tried to make you look beautiful, ethereal, wise and innocent. Like no one could pass ill judgement on you."

It was such a peculiar statement, but my reflection in the window gave that sort of impression. That somehow, I was beyond the realms of men. Only I could pass the judgement now. Joe had walked in at that point, and I had expected some snide remark, but instead he whistled.

"Wow Lady Jane. It suits you. You look quite regal actually." He had squeezed Anna's hand in congratulations of her work.

"Wait til I finish the look tomorrow. Weather says it's going to be sunny, and perfect for a shoot. Day of Halloween, or Samhain, or whatever they call it here."

"Plus I won't look so odd dressed up on Halloween." I said. "Especially if you're to be taking me out in public."

"Either way - you're taking a break from all this history stuff tomorrow. Rev's going to be busy anyway, and Joe said he'd help me set you up for the shoot."

And that was the worst thing that I could have imagined for the following day. Being stared at as a crazy and highly dressed up tourist. Would the locals think me mad? Or perhaps Anna's quirkiness and inquiries had sparked the local gossip. She seemed to have pulled from multiple sources for fabrics, makeups, and tips. Perhaps I was old news. It was a mild hope, but still a hope.

"Alright. Get me out of this so I can get to bed. You'll have me up at odd hours of the morning, so I'd like to catch some sleep."

That night, I dreamed of highlander battles, and a white lady standing atop a hill, directing pawns on her life-sized chessboard and watching her armies slaughter.

In the morning I looked, and felt, worse for the sleep I had supposedly gotten. Three hours of Anna's work though, and I was a silver-eyed (thanks to the coloured contact lenses), shimmering white witch. She had left me a sinister looking dark red mouth which I found disconcerting, but she said that it was one of the colours of her art series. My hair she had left in the ropey mess of curls it always was, claiming that it looked freeing and natural. I personally thought that after all the time she spent on makeup she simply didn't want to deal with my hair. I donned my dress, and a large and warm coat, slipping my feet into a pair of comfortable running shoes, that we would switch later, if the grass was short.

Joe, our lighting guy for the day, beamed at me as I sat, quietly, and shyly in the back of the car during the journey. He loved Anna in her element, and I tried to be as perky as she wanted, to be that model that she needed for her holiday photo shoot.

Perhaps we could slap this picture in our October page, Frank? I thought. I twisted his wedding band around my finger, and waited. I wasn't sure where we were going, but I was already hungry.

She stopped on a road by a hill, and pointed us up, as she loaded herself and Joe up with equipment. I began to walk up the hill, looking at the ancient oaks around me, and wondering which tree had caught her eye, when I saw it. A circle of standing stones. A mystical place if there ever was one. Anna the planner. She had every detail down to a tee. It was kind of chilling. Like the air, which although it was sunny and clear out, it was still October. I was frozen.

I made my way up to the stone circle. I could hear Anna and Joe chatting animatedly behind me. She had me stand in the ring, while she took shots from afar at first, and Joe hid behind a stone with a large white sheet meant to reflect light towards me. It eliminated my shadows, making me look out of place. Anna crept forwards slowly, directing me here and there.

The center stone of the standing stones, was cracked, and she wanted to shoot me through it. I walked around to the other side of the stone, watching her line up. She leaned against it, angling her camera towards me. It was then that I started to hear the buzzing. The wind picked up around me, and I shivered. The sky seemed to darken as I listened. Anna and Joe seemed to pay no mind to it, and I started to wonder if perhaps I was cold, hungry and tired enough that I was hallucinating. She beckoned me forward and I focused in on her, dazed.

"What?" I asked.

"Come forward, and lean in on the stone here, I'll make this the last few shots. You're turning blue."

As I stepped towards the stone the buzzing got louder. It was making my head spin and my teeth hurt. The wind whipped my hair around my face, and I stepped forward, touching my hands onto the rock. I saw only one flash of her camera before my world turned itself inside out.