[October 7, 2042]

There was an unfamiliar, almost surreal knock at the door. A solitary bang against the wood, as if the person knocking was certain that a single sound would be enough to summon the inhabitants of the huge house. Mel couldn’t quite explain it to herself, but there was something about the noise that unnerved her, that filled her with a sense of pronounced anticipation that she couldn’t justify.

It was the sound of superstition. Of destiny knocking.

For a moment, Mel considered ignoring the sound. She was — after all — a ghost, and so wasn’t used to interacting with the physical world in such a direct way as opening a door for a visitor. In all the scary movies she watched, the ghost would always bide its time in the first act, only making itself known as the film progressed through poltergeist activity and jump scares. Whoever heard of any ghost worth her salt that opened the door for whatever schmuck happened to stop by?

However, three things made Mel pause and reconsider this initial instinct.

The first: she was worried that any continuous knocking would wake up Cal.

The second: she was the only able person still in the house. All the other tenants were currently out of the house for various reasons.

The third: she remembered that things were different now. Aina’s charm was still active, and Mel was visible to anybody as long as she remained on the premises of Otter Manor. Lately, she had even been practicing walking along the ground, going along it like a normal girl.

Mel looked down at her outfit: the white sundress and her bare feet. A little unusual for this time of the year, perhaps, but surely nothing extremely strange?

Why not? She thought to herself. I can do this. It’s probably just someone dropping off a package or something. As long as it’s over quickly, I can pretend to be a normal girl just fine. They won’t even guess that I’m a ghost if I make sure to walk along the floor and not go through walls.

Mel balled a small, pale fist, and was surprised at the courage that had begun to run through her. She wanted this, she realized. She wanted to feel normal, do something normal, like anyone else would.

She floated over to the window and looked down at the entrance of the mansion. While the figure by the door was somewhat obscured by the portico, she was certain that caught a glimpse of long hair. The visitor wasn’t Isaac — there was nothing to worry about.

In one clean motion, Mel dived head-first through the floor of room 01, emerging into the entry hall, flipping over in the air as she did. She landed — yes, landed! — onto the red carpeted floor, feet-first. She bounced on the heels of her feet, making sure she got used to the feeling of the ground underneath. She took a step forward, and then took a step back, watching the thin fibers of the carpet sprout between her toes. All good to go. Nowhere safe and nowhere terrifying.

Mel took a deep breath and opened the door.

In the entrance, framed by the colorless sky, was a woman.

For a long moment, Mel had difficulty discerning the woman’s features, like her eyes had static in them. From what she could tell, the woman was tall, with long silky black hair that fell almost to her knees. Her skin was pale, almost unnaturally pale: the color of snow and porcelain and calcite — like no blood flowed underneath. The woman’s eyes were dark, not in the way that Cal’s were; which Mel fancied was a comforting darkness, like light gently fading outside a bedroom window as you drifted off to sleep.

The woman’s eyes were dark because they were darkness: featureless, deep, abyssal. They simulated looking down deep into the bottom of a well, and a sneaking, unnerving feeling that something you couldn’t see was staring back up at you.

Mel suddenly felt cold, and a little sick in her stomach. She felt something instinctive in her brain, yelling at her to for God’s sake close the door and not let this woman inside, but her limbs felt frozen and her mouth felt lame.

“Ah,” said the woman. Her voice was like the cracking of ice: a greater force could be felt behind the sound. “You’ve finally decided to let me in.”

Without asking for permission, she crossed the threshold of Otter Manor, straight past Mel, who stood dumbly without reacting at all.

The woman stopped in the middle of the entry hall. She looked around distastefully at the decor and clicked her tongue. What was the woman wearing? Mel somehow couldn’t quite tell. A cloak, a kimono, a suit? Something dark that hugged the contours of her tall, spindly body. How old was the woman? Age didn’t seem to matter all that much, somehow. Between twenty and thirty — between twenty-five and forty-five. Was the woman beautiful? Undoubtedly. Mel had always thought of Aina as the zenith of feminine charm and elegance, but the fourth princess of Luvinia seemed like a common girl compared to the terrible beauty of the woman who stood before the ghost.

In Aina’s company, Mel often felt silly, unshapely, plain.

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In the company of this woman, a feeling from long ago reemerged in Mel’s chest. That she wasn’t even a girl, not really. She was only a sexless shape, like wet mud falling through air. She ought to be ashamed. She ought to disappear.

What is happening? Mel thought, blankly. What is happening inside of me?

Was it even a woman that Mel was looking at? That didn’t seem right — it was too specific, too human. She ought to be described as a thundercloud, or a mountain peak, or a great dark wave that crashed against the pale beach. “Woman” was too small a word. “Woman” was too kind of a word.

The woman clicked her tongue again. “What a dismal place. A melancholy erection, built from misplaced nostalgia for a past that never existed. And so much negative energy. You can practically feel the grief dripping from the walls. A waste of time and money.”

The woman fixed Mel with her terrible, dark eyes. “Your father was quite a pathetic man, wouldn’t you agree?”

She’s talking about daddy, Mel realized, nobody talks about my daddy like that. He was fragile, yes. But he was gentle and kind and was my entire world. When I was in pain, he cried. When I died, he cried for me.

The ghost did not move and did not say anything.

“Get me some tea, would you?” said the woman, who had plopped into one of the leather armchairs as if they belonged to her. “Top cupboard. What the princess brought back from her world. There should still be some left.”

Time skipped — like when Mel fast-forwarded through the parts of a movie she had already seen.

The next thing the ghost girl knew, she was handing the woman a steaming cup of tea. The woman took the cup silently (not thanking or acknowledging Mel) and stretched her frame out on the chair. “Okay,” she said, “sit down now.”

“Um..” Mel was shaking with confusion and fear — fear? Why was she afraid? — but she managed to find her wavering voice. “Miss… um… that is to say… who are you? What are you doing here?”

“I just thought I would have a look around,” replied the woman, who was disinterestedly inspecting her fingernails. “Despite everything, it’s always better to get a look at things in person, above all. Being aware of something isn’t quite the same as experiencing it, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Who are you, ma’am?” said Mel again, trying not to sink into the floor out of anxiety. She wanted to call for someone to help — Bridget, in truth — but the only other person in the house was Cal, sick and asleep upstairs.

“I’m just visiting, and you won’t remember this anyway. Sit down, won’t you?”

Mel gritted her teeth, a spark of annoyance overcoming her fear. “I think you should leave, ma’am.”

The woman looked up sharply, as if Mel’s words were very unexpected. And then she smiled. “Has the lady of the house decided to grow a backbone?” The smile grew wider. It seemed to be eclipsing the length of the woman's face. “Oh, but it isn’t really your house, is it? It was supposed to be, your father always intended it to be, but you died before that materialized — and then he died out of a broken heart. You know, I wonder if you blame yourself for that. Do sit down.”

There was a little pop inside of Mel’s head. It sounded to her like the sound bubble wrap makes when you press your thumb firmly against it: a loud noise that slowly deflates.

“You need to get out, right now.” Anger had now fully replaced the fear, and Mel floated forward towards the grinning woman, not bothering to walk along the carpeted floor anymore. “I’ll… call the police, I’ll do something, you need to leave-”

“You’re all in a tizzy, dear. And if I may say, girl-to-girl, you’re looking rather pale. Ah… but in the strictest sense of the word, you’ve never really been a girl, have you? Sit down.”

“I’m not going to sit down, you have to go!-”

“Sit down.”

Time skipped — the hand of the clock jumping, as if it had been knocked by a careless arm.

Mel was sitting down in the chair across from the woman. Her head felt like it was empty, with nothing in it but gently drifting motes of dust.”

“Who-” Mel started, in a bewildered voice. “What are you?”

The woman took a sip of tea, her dark eyes not even looking at Mel. “Above your pay grade, little spirit.” She placed the tea down. “Now, I would appreciate it if we could get to the topic of discussion I’m actually here about. And I did want to talk about it with you, in particular. You seem to know him better than the others here, if only superficially. I understand that you have prodded him and looked at him and maybe imagined a little thing or two that wasn’t strictly appropriate, that’s fine. I’m sure it all felt very sincere and real to you, despite your departed condition. All this to say — I wanted to get your opinion. Take a rain check, so to speak. I want to know how things are progressing.”

Mel’s mouth was dry. She intertwined her small pale fingers, then tugged at the hem of her sundress. She suddenly wished to cover her knees. “Him? Who are you talking about?”

The woman tilted her head and her long dark hair cascaded over the armrest of the chair. “Who? My boyfriend, of course. I’ve put a lot of work into him, so I believe I’m more than entitled to check on his condition. You should have seen him when I first got my hands on him. You hardly could have called such a thing ‘human’. Not that I would be an expert in such definitions.”

“Your…” Mel shook her head, more confused by the moment. “Your boyfriend?”

“Of course.” The woman said, annoyed. “I certainly didn’t come to this sorry excuse for a manor for your sake. Do you think I care enough about the lost cosmonaut, the voiceless doll, the slave, or the would-be-princess? Trust me, for the time being, I couldn’t care less about their issues. They are not yet relevant to the things I care about. That’s why I wanted to talk about my boyfriend.”

“I-” Mel was finding it hard to keep up with the things the woman was saying. She was now pulling at the short hairs on her head. “I don’t know who you’re talking about. You’re not making any sense.”

“Come now! I obviously mean that silly boy sleeping upstairs.” The woman watched Mel carefully as she said these words. “My little Pascal. Well, he calls himself Cal. He doesn’t like his name too much, poor fool.”

The woman grinned again. Her eyes looked like the wide expanse of the night sky. “Let’s have a chat, little spirit. Girl-talk. I want to talk about love with you.”