The scream tore through the mansion like a violent gust of wind.
Neria froze mid-float, her translucent fingers still hovering uselessly in the air as the entire kitchen erupted into chaos. The maid who had seen her—poor girl....had crumpled to the floor, trembling like a frightened rabbit. Her eyes were fixed on the floating plate that Neria had only just dropped in panic.
The plate hit the counter with a loud clang. The soup sloshed. Silence followed for a heartbeat....before chaos returned in full force.
Several maids rushed in, hairpins loose and aprons flapping behind them.
"What happened?!"
"Are we under attack?"
"Why are you screaming like the house is on fire, Kira?"
The poor maid, Kira, shakily pointed at the counter.
"S-s-something lifted the plate… and… and the food—it was disappearing! I swear it was disappearing on its own!"
An older maid crossed her arms, unimpressed.
"Kira, my dear, did you sleepwalk into the pantry and eat it yourself? It wouldn't be the first time."
That earned a wave of laughter from two younger maids.
"I DID NOT!" Kira squeaked, indignant. "I saw it! It was floating! Floating right in front of me! Something...someone...was eating it!"
A thin, bespectacled maid whispered, wide-eyed,
"You mean… a ghost?"
Kira nodded aggressively. "YES! A ghost! I swear!"
"Ghost?" someone muttered. "In this mansion? Impossible."
"Actually," another whispered dramatically, "they say the Lord has a cursed aura—maybe ghosts like him?"
"Keep your nonsense to yourself!" the older maid snapped. "You'll get us all fired."
All eyes drifted to the abandoned plate. It looked ordinary. Entirely non-mysterious. Completely un-haunted.
Neria hovered beside them, watching the whole exchange with her face in her hands—well, metaphorically. She had no solid face and no solid hands.
She sighed.
Great job, Neria. First week as a ghost and you're already traumatizing innocent kitchen staff.
Kira insisted again, voice cracking,
"It wasn't me! It wasn't! Someone was eating right next to me I swear!"
But the head cook rolled her eyes, clicking her tongue.
"Apologize and clean up the mess you made. And next time—no excuses. You waste food again, and the butler will deal with you."
"But—!"
"No buts. Clean."
Neria drifted backward, guilt curling in her translucent stomach.
She didn't deserve that. I wasn't even hungry! Why do I feel hunger anyway? Ghosts weren't supposed to crave… soup! Or anything!
She floated out of the kitchen completely defeated.
Once in the hallway, she muttered to herself,
"I'm so sorry, Kira… I'll… uh… get revenge for you? Somehow? I don't know how ghost revenge works but I'll figure it out."
The promise made absolutely no logical sense, but it made her feel better. Confidence—misplaced or not—was comforting.
Neria ventured deeper into the mansion, keeping her form pressed lightly to the ceiling beams whenever she heard approaching footsteps. She didn't want another scene. She already felt guilty enough to haunt herself.
The mansion was colder than the night. Every hall stretched tall and dark, lit only by rows of dim candles whose flames flickered with blue edges. In contrast to the lush environment outside, the house's interior was almost—
"Gothic," she muttered. "Super gothic. Who decorates like this, is it a magical world? What is this, a vampire's vacation home?"
She floated past ancient portraits, ornate vases, and heavy black drapes.
"Whoever lives here has dramatic energy. Peak drama. They could rival my high school theatre club."
As she drifted past a massive doorway, something caught her eye....
A library.
She gasped softly, slipping inside.
The room stretched wider than she expected—wall-to-wall shelves, chandeliers shaped like dark crystal branches, ladders on rails, and thick carpets with silver patterns like spell circles.
"Who in the dramatic-goth world builds a mansion this moody and still enjoys reading?" she whispered. "This person is suspiciously well-rounded."
Her eyes landed on a gleaming black book that seemed to shimmer faintly.
Curiosity flared.
She reached for it.
Her fingers gripped the spine.
It didn't budge. Not even a little.
She pulled harder.
And harder.
"Come on. You—stubborn—piece—of—furniture!"
The book didn't move.
Instead, the entire shelf made a soft clicking sound.
She froze.
"…What are you?" she whispered, narrowing her eyes at the unmoving book.
After a moment of glaring aggressively at it, she floated back with a sigh.
"I refuse to be stressed by literature today. You win."
She drifted out, determined to explore more before she accidentally triggered a magical trap, secret chamber, or—worse—a hidden dungeon.
One hallway branched into several smaller ones. Most rooms she passed were cold, dark, and decorated with the same grim aesthetic. But one door stood out—painted in a muted sage color with golden vines curling along its edges.
Neria blinked.
"That's… new."
She floated inside.
Warm, gentle sunlight filtered through sheer curtains. The furniture here was soft, the colors muted and warm—creams, browns, hints of green. A complete contrast to the mansion's overall vibe.
"This room has… life," she whispered.
It felt lived in. Human. Soft. It felt—
Sad.
She sensed something lingering here, something emotional, like an echo of a memory.
She didn't stay long.
Neria drifted back toward the main hall, following the noise of hurried footsteps.
The maids were rushing with renewed energy.
"He's back—quick, prepare!"
"Straighten your aprons!"
"Hurry, the master has arrived!"
Curiosity flared hard enough to make her glow faintly.
The owner of this giant haunted-gothic mansion… finally.
She floated down into the grand entrance hall, positioning herself near the upper railing to get a good view.
And then—
The heavy front doors opened.
A cold wind swept in.
Boots touched the marble floor with a commanding rhythm.
And he entered.
Neria's eyes widened.
He was tall—taller than any man she'd seen in her world—and lean but unmistakably powerful beneath his long coat. Midnight-black hair spilled down his back, straight and shining like obsidian silk. His jawline was sharp enough to cut through arrogance itself. His nose straight and elegant. And his eyes...
Dark. Obsidian.
Glowing faintly, like the dying embers of a fire.
His presence filled the hall like a shadow born from dusk.
He was beautiful.
And terrifying.
The maids bowed instantly.
"Welcome back, Lord Ravon."
The name echoed softly through the hall.
Neria's mouth fell open.
Her voice slipped out in a breathless whisper.....
"Ravon…"