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The air was bitterly cold, and even with the fireplace crackling, a thick coat was still necessary. Snow had fallen steadily all day, and now the world outside was pitch black, the silvery blanket of snow swallowed by the endless night.
Ghost Plasma sat cross-legged on the window seat, a chessboard spread before him. Across the board, the other set of hands belonged to Ghost Marble. The Plasma Warriors—the red pieces commanded by Ghost Plasma—had routed the white Ghost Riders, leaving their formation in tatters. The victorious soldiers brandished their long spears, standing tall and proud, triumphant in their charge.
“I won,” declared Ghost Plasma, a hint of triumph in his voice.
“Yes, Young Sir, you’re truly brilliant,” Ghost Marble replied, tidying up the scattered chess pieces. “Would you like to play another round?”
“No, you’re too dumb. It’s no fun playing with you.”
“Yes, Young Sir, I am indeed very dumb.”
Ghost Plasma rolled his eyes in frustration and grumbled more complaints about his opponent’s ineptitude. Yet, no matter how much he scolded, Ghost Marble just smiled and nodded in agreement. Finally, Ghost Plasma burst out, “You brainless doll!”
“Yes, Young Sir. I am simply the practice doll prepared for you by the Master of the house.”
Silence fell between them.
“Feeling better now?” Ghost Marble asked gently.
Ghost Plasma burrowed himself into the fur coat over him, saying nothing. The grown-up scents of tobacco and wine enveloped him like a cloud.
“How about a cup of tea?”
No answer.
“With white chocolate cookies,” Ghost Marble added softly.
“…When will Father come back?”
Ghost Marble glanced out the window. The snow showed no signs of stopping. “Perhaps late in the night, Young Sir. You likely won’t see him before you fall asleep.”
“If he doesn’t come back, does that mean I won’t have to attend lessons tomorrow?”
“The Master will return, Young Sir,” Ghost Marble replied with a calm certainty.
Standing up to fetch some tea and snacks, Ghost Marble left Ghost Plasma momentarily alone. Taking the chance, Ghost Plasma poked his head out of the heavy coat to catch a breath of fresh air. His father’s coat carried such a strong scent that it was making his eyes water.
The cup held something closer to hot milk than tea—anything to avoid disrupting sleep. The cookies, sprinkled with crushed peanuts, had been left near the fireplace for a while; the ones at the bottom were slightly melted.
“Aren’t you going to eat?” Ghost Plasma asked.
“I’m a doll, Young Sir.”
“Don’t pretend. You helped me finish those ball veggies this morning.” He meant the Brussels sprouts. Ghost Marble chuckled, but Ghost Plasma didn’t look amused. “They’re too bitter. I don’t like them.”
“You can always give them to me, Young Sir.”
“I don’t like them.” Ghost Plasma repeated himself, ignoring the offer as he absentmindedly peeled the peanuts from his cookie. His perfectly manicured nails were now smeared with chocolate. “But no one cares. —Why do I have to take lessons?”
“You have powerful blood running through your veins, Young Sir. With discipline and training, you will one day become the greatest knight.”
“Father is already a knight.”
“Your ancestors made a sacred vow to protect this land through the generations. You’ll be a worthy successor to the Master.”
“Why me? Why not you?”
“I’m just a practice doll, Young Sir.”
For a moment, Ghost Plasma looked like he was about to throw his teacup at Ghost Marble. Instead, Ghost Marble drew closer, tucking their legs beneath him, and gently took Ghost Plasma’s hand to wipe his chocolate-streaked fingertips with a handkerchief. “Did what I said upset you?”
Ghost Plasma shook his head, then nodded. “It feels like you’re holding back on purpose.”
“I am nearly twice your age, Young Sir.”
“But I’m the one with—magic blood! My sword breathes fire, my cape is tougher than steel, and even dragons tremble before me!”
“Even prodigies need time to grow,” said Ghost Marble softly. “Like little birds that must peck through their shells before they can soar as eagles.”
“I want to beat you.”
“You’ve already defeated me plenty of times, Young Sir.”
Ghost Plasma pulled his hand away and retreated back into the cocoon of his coat. He looked like he was struggling to find the right words—or perhaps trying to shove the wrong ones back into his heart. “I’ve beaten you so many times,” he muttered. “So many times. But Father never said anything… I don’t understand. If he doesn’t care, why hire a tutor for me at all?”
“He’s too busy,” Ghost Marble said.
“Too busy to even listen to me?”
A moment before speaking, Ghost Marble realized he had no obligation to defend someone who wasn’t present. “Perhaps he does have time,” they said vaguely, then quickly shifted the subject. “Or perhaps simply weary. He’s burdened by his duties, and that’s why I’m here.”
“Will you always be here?”
“Yes, Young Sir. The Master commissioned me from my father and brought me into the estate to live and eat alongside you. My purpose is to stay by your side.”
“To help me with homework.”
“Yes, Young Sir.”
“To play in the garden with me.”
“Yes, Young Sir.”
“To let me defeat you.”
“Yes, Young Sir.”
“To stay here, always and forever.”
“Yes, Young Sir, unless the day comes when you no longer need me.”
Ghost Plasma’s face remained hidden within the folds of his coat. No one could see his expression. To an outsider, he appeared to be simply sitting there, hugging his knees in a small, self-made darkness. But Ghost Marble could feel the weight of those crimson, glassy eyes piercing through the shadows.
“You’re just a practice doll,” Ghost Plasma said after a long pause.
“Yes, Young Sir,” Ghost Marble replied with a smile. “I am just a practice doll. So would you like more tea? Or perhaps a bedtime story?”
By the time the milk tea arrived, Ghost Plasma was curled up on the window seat, half-asleep, his eyes too heavy to stay open. Ghost Marble carefully scooped him up and tucked him into the blankets, sitting quietly at the bedside until the young knight-in-training's breathing grew steady and calm.
They remembered Ghost Plasma hadn’t rinsed his mouth after eating sweets but decided it wasn’t worth fussing over—there hadn’t been many desserts, after all. They drank the tea themself, then stepped outside the room. They read a book for a while, watched the snow drift through the air, played two rounds of chess against themself, and returned to the window to watch the snow some more.
The estate’s Master did not make it to return before the new day arrived. As the clock’s hands ticked past midnight, Ghost Marble retired to their bed. Slowly, they forgot what they had just been thinking about. Slowly, they forgot they had been thinking at all.