I rose early after a fitful night of sleep. There were no nightmares, but the bed was lumpy because I’d had to hide Morthisal’s staff under the mattress. I couldn’t think of any other place to put it until I located space in the tavern.

After a quick breakfast of a Stuffed Puff, I made my way to The Whistling Kettle, eager for my morning cup of coffee. As I approached the small café, I noticed Milo already busying himself behind the counter. He must have spotted me heading toward the shop because he was already making my favorite drink.

"Good morning, Milo," I greeted him with a smile.

"Oh. Hi, Mr. Vel'Naris," he replied with a bored tone, his hands deftly maneuvering the hot water pot. "I've been working on that strainer you mentioned. It’s not like I could make something like that. I'm asking around. Try this for now."

Milo produced a larger spoon with smaller slots, but as he poured the coffee, it was clear that the process was still messy. Coffee grounds seeped through the slits, creating a muddy mixture in the cup. I appreciated his effort, but it seemed we still had a ways to go in order to get a cup of coffee prepped that didn’t force me to use toothpicks immediately after drinking.

Despite the less-than-ideal brew, I was happy to have my morning caffeine fix. As I reached for my coin purse, I noticed something was missing from the counter.

"Hey, what happened to the tip mug?" I asked, curiosity piqued.

Milo's face reddened as he told me what had occurred. "Old Farmer Hulster came in earlier. After I made his wife a cup of spearmint tea, I pointed at the mug. He picked it up and threw it at me, saying, 'Here's a tip. Don't charge people twice for the same thing.'"

I had to choke back laughter. I apologized for my amusement. "Maybe asking for tips isn't such a good idea. That's on me."

With my coffee in hand, I bid Milo farewell and made my way to Roland's office. The estate steward greeted me with a smile, and we quickly got down to business. I signed the remaining paperwork, officially taking ownership of The Shadow's Respite. Roland handed me the keys.

We exchanged pleasantries, and Roland wished me luck in my new venture. I thanked him for his help throughout the process and left his office.

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As I stood before the door of The Shadow's Respite, I took a deep breath. This was it. The beginning of my new life as a tavern owner. With a steadying exhale, I inserted the key into the lock and pushed the door open.

“Honey, I’m home!” I announced as I stepped inside.

Thankfully, no one answered.

My smile slowly fell. Maybe it was the luster I’d built up in my mind. My rose-colored glasses hadn’t been in place when I had toured the tavern, but they sure had been in place over my memories.

Christ. This place was a dump!

Same broken chairs. Floors that were filthy. A wall needed replacing because someone had apparently tried to burn the place down. I found some shutters and opened them, revealing dirty windows. Light filtered in, and it did not improve my view at all.

It smelled of dirt and mildew, with an undercurrent of mold layered on top of the dusty smell.

When I stepped into The Shadow's Respite's kitchen, my heart sank.

This place was an absolute disaster. There was no other way to put it. It looked like it hadn't seen a decent meal cooked in years, let alone a thorough cleaning. The first thing that hit me was the smell - a musty, stale odor that made my nose wrinkle. Dust particles danced in the sunlight, streaming through a grimy window.

One wall was dominated by a massive stone hearth, its blackened interior filled with old ashes and half-burned logs. Rusty iron pots and pans hung from hooks above it, their once-shiny surfaces now dull and spotted with age. I reached out to touch one, and a thick layer of grime came away on my fingertips.

The wooden prep table was warped and stained, its surface scarred by years of knife marks and spills. In one corner, a stack of cracked clay plates teetered precariously. I moved them to the middle of the table so they wouldn't fall over.

Another wall was lined with a row of shelves holding an assortment of chipped earthenware jars and bowls. I cautiously opened one, only to be greeted by the pungent smell of long-spoiled spices.

Near the back, a heavy wooden door led to what I assumed was a pantry. I pushed it open, wincing at the loud creak of rusted hinges. Inside, empty barrels and crates were stacked haphazardly, with cobwebs stretching between them like gossamer curtains.

As I surveyed the mess, I couldn't help but feel overwhelmed. This kitchen was a far cry from any modern setups I was used to back on Earth. This place would take a lot of work to make functional again, let alone up to any health code standard.

An intense moment of buyer's remorse threatened to overwhelm me.

I pushed it aside.

All this place needed was someone who cared about it and was willing to put in the work to restore it, as well as a boatload of money. I'd figure that part out.

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I wandered out to the main room and found a sturdy wooden box under the bar. Opening it revealed a half dozen thick brass keys, each stamped with a number. I took the lot and walked up the rickety stairs. Each one creaked and made me feel like I was in a haunted house.

The hallway was dusty. I touched a wall, and my finger returned with a thick white coating.

I moved to the first door and picked the key with a ‘one’ on the head.

I slid the key into the lock, turned, and was greeted by a click. The door swung open, and I stepped into the room, with my heart sinking at the sight. A couple of days ago, Roland had showed me a different room during the tour. That room had been in sad disrepair. I wasn't prepared for what greeted my eyes.

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The chamber was an absolute mess. A thick layer of dust coated every surface, and cobwebs hung from the corners. The floorboards creaked under my feet, and I couldn't help but wonder when someone had last set foot in here.

I groaned at the sight of the bed. There was no bedding to speak of, just a lumpy, stained mattress that looked like it had been used to beat someone to death. I swore I saw something moving beneath the surface as I moved closer. Probably rats. Great, just what I needed - furry little roommates with a penchant for chewing through everything. I needed a cat. Or two.

I turned my attention to the dresser, hoping to find something, anything, that might make this room feel a little less like a disaster zone. On top of the dresser sat a wash basin and a pitcher, both coated in a layer of grime. I picked up the pitcher and examined it in the dim light filtering through the dirty window. It was cracked and chipped, but at least it was still in one piece.

I set the pitcher down with a sigh, my mind already racing with the list of things I'd need to do to make this room livable. New bedding, for starters. And a thorough cleaning from top to bottom. I'd have to figure out how to get rid of the rats, too. Maybe I could enlist Churl's help with that - she seemed like the type who wouldn't mind taking on a few rodents. But getting Lady Churl into town presented its own problems.

Roland had mentioned a woman in town whose cat had just had a litter of kittens. I’d contact him for her address.

This place might be a mess now, but I would turn it around. I'd pour my heart and soul into making The Shadow's Respite a place where people wanted to hang out, eat, drink, and spend their hard-earned money. It was going to be warm and inviting. Eventually.

"What a freaking mess," I muttered and turned to leave.

“Well. What did you expect?” The voice cut through my gloom.

I spun and found the woman I had already seen twice: once in the window when I had walked by The Shadow’s Respite for the first time and again in one of the rooms while Roland had given a tour.

The ring tingled on my fingers, like a circlet of tiny needles burning into my skin.

She was tall and regal. She wore a shimmering deep blue dress with a multitude of buttons that danced their way up her chest. Runes and markings were worked into her shirt sleeves and the hem of her attire.

“Whotheyellareyou?” I blurted as I fell back. Goosebumps erupted all over my body, and a literal chill took hold in my spine and held on for dear damn life.

“Come now, Morthisal. Surely you have not forgotten me so soon.”

Her figure changed before me. She went from a stunning elf chick to a stunning dark elf chick. Then, her skin turned the same shade of dusky pale as Morthisal’s real body, and her features became sharper, but not severe. Her clothing was replaced by something a lot more, well, hot. She wore a black velvet tunic that was open to her midriff, revealing a lot of cleavage, and tight matching pants. Graceful lines were etched on her face.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she teased. "Is this how you best remember me?"

“You kinda look like Charlize Theron.” I shook my head, then gulped.

I didn't want to stand here and do the whole over-explanation thing again, so I strode towards her and reached out my hand. It passed through her body, just as it had with Garin, the paladin.

“Yes, Morthisal…wait. You’re-” Her eyes narrowed. “Who–or what–are you?”

"I'm me. Varix Vel'Naris."

“Your speech patterns are peculiar.”

“You’re one to talk, lady.”

“Lady Ophelia Nightshade.” She offered a partial curtsy.

“Look. I’m not him, okay? Like I was telling that paladin, Garin. I was minding my own business in a whole-ass other world, when Morthisal busted into my body, took over, and sent me here. I barely escaped his fortress in one piece. And I’m sorry for whatever horrible thing he did to you, but that wasn’t me.”

"Typical Morthisal," she murmured, then raised her voice. "Yes. He did something horrible to me. Vile. Unspeakable. A pox upon the man.” She turned her head and spit, but she was a ghost, so nothing came out.

“What did he do?” Curiosity got the better of me.

“Pfft.” She tossed her head and looked away. “He married me.”

“Hold the fuck up. You’re my—I mean—you’re his wife?”

She regarded me with eyes that cut through the room. Crimson or violet. They seemed to change as I stared.

She nodded once.

“Look. This is all really interesting, seeing ghosts and all, but I have a lot to do today. It would be best if you went,” I said and gestured with a sweeping motion. “Just get out of here and go haunt someone or somewhere else.”

“If only t’were so easy, er, what should I call you?”

“Varix. Varix Vel’Naris.”

“Interesting name.”

“Thanks. I totally made it up.”

She walked around me and looked my body up and down.

“What?” I asked.

“You. Your form. I miss Morthisal’s skinny and sickly body.”

“That’s weird, but I guess the heart wants what the heart wants.”

She laughed, the sound like the tinkling of chimes. “Yes. Well, his heart wanted a dagger in my chest. Now, here I am.”

“That’s…that’s horrible.”

“It was at the time.”

“Lady. Why are you here? Why are you haunting me?”

“I do not know. I seem to be bound to this place, or to you. The day you came here, I found myself pulled here.”

“This is weird on top of weird,” I muttered.

“Truly.”

“Truly,” I echoed her word.

“Hello?” A voice boomed from below.

“FFS. Not another one.” I sighed.

“Varix. Where are you?” Doan yelled.

“Oh, snap.”

I turned to tell the woman to go away again, but she had disappeared.

“This is my life now…”

Shaking my head to clear it, I stared at the space that Lady Ophelia Nightshade had occupied. Had she been real? Was I suddenly tripping balls for some reason? No. She had been there, and more disturbingly, she wasn't the first dead person I had interacted with.

Curse you, Morthisal!

I made for the stairs, wondering why in the world Doan was here.

I couldn't believe my eyes as I descended to the main room of The Shadow's Respite. Standing before me were not just Doan but Caden and Mira as well. And if that wasn't enough to make my jaw drop, Ragna stepped through the front door, her keen eyes surveying the space with a critical gaze.

Each of them carried an assortment of tools and cleaning supplies. Buckets filled with water sloshed at their feet, rags hung from their belts, and Doan even had a box of tools tucked under his arm. It was like they'd raided a cleaning supply closet on their way here.

"What are you all doing here?" I asked, my voice a mix of surprise and confusion.

Caden flashed me a grin, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "What? You thought we were going to leave you to fix up our investment on your own? Not on my watch, dude. Isn’t that the word you sometimes use?"

Mira’s smile was warm and reassuring. "We're here to help, Varix."

Even Ragna, who I half-expected to start barking orders, cracked a smile. "I'm here to supervise," she growled, but her words had no real bite.

I had to fight my body for control because my eyes had suddenly teared up, and I had a lump in my throat as I looked at each of them in turn. These people, who I'd only known for a short time, had already become such an integral part of my life. And here they were, ready to roll up their sleeves and help me tackle the task of restoring The Shadow's Respite to its former glory.

"I...I don't know what to say," I managed, my voice suddenly thick. “Thank you, all of you. This means more to me than you could possibly know."

“Worry not, friend. Soon, this will be the best tavern in all of Everspring,” Caden proclaimed.

“Let’s help him get the kitchen ready first. I’m hungry.” Doan chuckled and headed for the back.