Morning light shimmered faintly over Eldoria, but Neria had no idea how she knew. She hadn't slept....not really. Ghosts didn't sleep. But she had closed her eyes in the half–crumbled gazebo, curled into herself, hoping desperately that morning would bring clarity.
It didn't.
She sat up slowly, the stone bench passing halfway through her back before she stabilized her form.
"Okay," she muttered, rubbing her temples even though she felt no ache. "Today, I'm going back. Somehow. Someway."
A bold declaration… with absolutely no plan.
She stood....or floated upward.....and dusted off her jeans out of habit. Nothing clung to her. Nothing ever would.
Her gaze drifted across the stretch of land before her… and stopped.
A massive mansion stood on the far side of the field.
Tall. Dark. Beautiful in a slightly ominous way. Gothic spires pierced the sky, shadows clung to its edges, and black iron gates curled like wicked vines. The whole structure looked like it belonged to a brooding villain, a fallen king, or someone who collected cursed antiques for fun.
Neria squinted.
"Well… that's dramatic."
But she felt a spark of hope.
Mansions meant rich people.
Rich people meant books, scrolls, rumors, servants.
And servants meant information.
She needed information like she needed resurrection.
Determined, she drifted forward. The cold air passed through her weightless form as she glided toward the mansion. It took several minutes.....ghosts were apparently slow walkers/floats....but she eventually reached the towering gate.
Up close, the mansion was even more intimidating. Tall windows. Dark stone. Heavy doors carved with symbols she didn't understand.
It screamed expensive danger.
Before entering, her hand rose automatically to adjust her hair....something she always did when nervous.....but her fingers swiped through her head with no resistance.
She paused.
"Oh. Right. No hair to fix." She snorted. "I can't believe I'm still doing human things."
She cleared her throat out of habit.
"Excuse me," she said awkwardly to no one. "Sorry for entering your house without permission. But, um… I'm dead. So I don't think laws apply the same way."
With that grand justification, she inhaled, closed her eyes, and stepped forward.
Her body slipped through the metal gate like it was water.
Then through the thick front wall.
Her senses tingled strangely as she passed inside. It felt like walking through a cold fog, but without wetness. Just… cold.
The interior of the mansion was breathtaking.
Tall ceilings. Wide corridors. Velvet curtains. Dark wooden floors polished to a reflective shine. Black chandeliers hanging like frozen spiders. Everything was rich, gothic, elegant… and slightly eerie.
"Whoever owns this place has a theme," Neria muttered. "And the theme is: 'I drink your soul with vintage wine.'"
Footsteps echoed down the corridor.
Her body reacted instinctively....she dove behind a pillar.
A useless act.
Her eyes widened. "Right. Ghost. No one can see me."
Feeling ridiculous, she straightened herself and floated onward.
The mansion was a maze of rooms: libraries with towering bookshelves, lounges filled with crimson sofas, dim hallways lined with paintings of long-dead nobles whose eyes seemed to follow her.
But the heart of the noise came from deeper inside.
Voices.
Clattering pots.
Rushing footsteps.
She followed the sound and pushed her way into the kitchen.
Her jaw dropped.
It was chaos.
Maids raced around, carrying trays, vegetables, herbs, kettles. Pots bubbled over wood-burning stoves. A group kneaded dough furiously. Someone yelled for onions. Someone else cried over burnt pastries. The entire room felt like a medieval cooking show filmed at 2× speed.
Neria floated over to sit on the windowsill, letting her legs dangle through the solid stone.
"I could watch this for hours," she said, eyes sparkling. "Drama is my coping mechanism."
She hugged her knees, observing like a child watching a soap opera.
The maids all wore simple dresses and aprons. Their hair was tied back messily. Some looked exhausted. Others terrified. All of them moved with frantic purpose.
"What's the rush?" Neria murmured. "Did the king announce a surprise dinner? Or does the owner of this place kill late maids for fun?"
Suddenly a loud voice cut through the air.
"WHO ADDED SUGAR INSTEAD OF SALT?!"
Everyone froze.
Neria perked up eagerly. "Oho. Drama time."
An older maid....clearly the stern cook...held up a ladle, shaking it angrily. The younger maid in front of her blinked rapidly, confused.
"M–Madam, I didn't— I swear I didn't touch the spices—"
The cook slammed the ladle on the counter. "Then who?! The soup tastes like dessert!"
Neria narrowed her eyes. She had been watching. She knew exactly who made the mistake.
"It was you, Auntie Spice Rage," she muttered. "I saw you scoop from the wrong jar."
The cook folded her arms triumphantly, somehow confident in her false accusation.
The young maid trembled. "I didn't do it… I–I really didn't—"
The butler swept into the room like an offended swan.
"What is this noise?!" he barked.
The cook pointed sharply. "She ruined the Master's soup!"
Neria pressed a palm to her forehead. "This is how villains are born."
The butler turned a disapproving stare onto the poor maid.
"You incompetent girl," he snapped. "Fetch water from the well. Now."
"But… but sir, I didn't—!"
"NOW!"
The maid flinched and hurried out with teary eyes.
Neria shook her head slowly. "Poor thing… If I had hands that could touch anything, I'd smack both of you."
She sighed. "Sorry, kid. I'm a ghost. I can't intervene. But don't worry— I'll get revenge for you later."
She wasn't sure where the confidence came from.
Maybe ghosts developed boldness with death.
Eventually, the soup was remade, the bread finished, vegetables chopped, and dishes arranged beautifully. The kitchen buzzed with the relief of nearing completion.
And Neria…
Felt hungry.
She froze.
"Wait… ghosts don't get hungry, right? That's—" Her stomach (or whatever ghost organs she had left) tightened. "No. Nope. Impossible. I am dead. Food is for people with… digestive systems."
Despite her logic, her hand drifted toward a steaming plate of roasted vegetables.
Her fingers curled around the edge.
And she lifted it.
She lifted it.
She held a solid object.
Her eyes widened. "I—What—?! I can touch things?!"
Her hunger roared through her.
Before she could think, she scooped food into her mouth.
And she actually ate it.
"I can EAT?" she whispered in shock. "Oh my God—this place is wild—"
She didn't notice the young maid returning from her punishment, stepping into the kitchen at that exact moment.
The girl halted.
Her blood drained from her face.
Her eyes widened into full saucers.
Because in the middle of the kitchen, a plate floated in mid-air… and the food on it was disappearing. Bite by bite. Vanishing into nothing.
The maid dropped her bucket. It clattered loudly.
Then.....
She screamed.
So loud the entire mansion shook.
And Neria froze, mid–bite.