The ghostly marauder had a grin just for the mirth Emmy displayed so easily and freely, right in the curved corner of her careful mouth. Always waiting for something to pounce. The jacket she'd taken off earlier was deposited unceremoniously onto the last peek of cement before sand swallowed the soil. The heels of her funeral boots sunk in when she'd descended, and a thousand memories reflected themselves in the back of her briefly closed eyes.
As she approached quietly, cautiously, avoiding to step on anything that may have made its final resting place here, she clearing her throat and chased away dim recollections of prison gray. The swing swatted at to rid it of its seat of sand before she sat.
"I hope it doesn't break." She tugged at the chains.