They say the Westbrook Shade was once named Philippa; that she was just a girl like us. What she bargained with and why is lost to time, but her anger echoes throughout the town. No one speaks her name if they can help it. No one questions the fortune she’s brought. Westbrook is hers to toy with as she pleases, and whoever gains her favor gains Westbrook. And if her words and her shadow follow you through a bitter Westbrook night—the worst thing you can do is run.
