The Dullahan galloped down the dark lane, holding his severed head high. Head's Sight. He was looking for a name to speak.
Chang'e floated down from the gibbous moon, accompanied by the scent of osmanthus. She did not walk; she drifted like dandelion fluff.
"You are loud," she whispered. Her voice was softer than the fog, but it carried the weight of a celestial body.
The Moonlight
The Dullahan cracked his Spine-Whip. He tried to terrify her. He opened his mouth to shout her name.
Chang'e smiled, a sad, lonely expression. She waved her sleeve. Lunar Veil.
Pure, cold moonlight flooded the lane. It wasn't just light; it was a revelation. It stripped away the shadows that the Dullahan wore like armor.
The black horse dissolve into smoke. The severed head squeezed its eyes shut against the brilliance. The Dullahan was a creature of terror, and terror cannot survive in the clear, calm light of the moon.
"Go back to the grave," Chang'e commanded. "The night belongs to me."
The spirit faded, leaving only a damp spot on the cobblestones.