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Since the incident with her brother, her abilities widely expanded. Like a muscle she was newly aware of, when those groaning, sobbing, moaning spirits drew close, she could reach out to them. Mila would peel back the veil that separated her spirit from theirs, and hold their hand with it.
In the short term, she frequently fainted after doing so. Weakened and dazed, Mila was nonetheless satisfied by the knowledge that she had helped them move on.
Ivan's stubby arms clung to her arm, and Mila would come to with one of the gnarled little branches of his head jabbed into her cheek. She would carefully detatch him, patting his head with a little "there, there", and then pick herself up off of the ground.
The long-term cost, however…
When she thought back to the terror of her childhood, fueled mainly by the unknown and her ghost-type visitors, Mila supposed that she was aware of it from the spot. Just like the cold of a fridge, the veil was the leaking gasket that was meant to keep her life contained. Spirits were a hot draft drifting by - though they chilled her to the bone. Their presence sapped away her lifeforce, and when she opened the door to accept them, the drain was that much more profound.
Mila would die young; in the years since Ivan rejoined her life, she came to terms with that fact. But no one else would be able to help those spirits move on; her gift became her duty to the spirits that she met.
Anyone could help the living, but who would help the dead?
She intended to travel the world until her own life gave out, hoping that as long as she continued to tend to human spirits, then someone would do the same for hers after she'd passed.
Her parents wouldn't understand - and she'd left without telling them. By sixteen, the atmosphere within that house suffocated her. They wanted her to try grief counselling, becoming distraught - an emotion that quickly gave way to grief-fueled anger - when she insisted to them that Ivan was still with them, just as a Phantump instead. They didn't believe her. And so she left behind a note explaining her intentions and departed.
After one session deep in Central Kalos, Mila couldn't even move to set up her tent. She leaned against a tree trunk, her eyes open but badly unfocused. Ivan was crying at her side, trying to rouse her back to wakefulness, but she couldn't manage it.
Instead she gave in to the fatigue, wrapping her arms around the worried Phantump. Her body slumped to the side; she dropped to the grass, the dew freezing and uncomfortable against the side of her face, but she had no energy to change that.
It was dangerous to not set up repels or spell tags around her. Ghost pokemon weren't nearly so harmless as human spirits, though they did not drain on her lifeforce in the same way.
"Mmph, you'll keep watch tonight, won't you, Ivan?" Her voice was frail and distant, like strands of web upon a gale. The branch of her brother's head poking hard into her shoulder didn't even faze her one bit.
And just like that, her mind slipped into unconsciousness.