Work Text:
There is a ghost in the manor.
A palace at the edge of Illsvale, crouching on the rocky outcropping with its shadow stretched out over the tombs at its feet, the manor is a fortress from without. From within, it plays the part of painted lantern pane. The ghost flickers through the halls. A white flame in the shape of a man.
There is a silhouette in a gossamer curtain. It breathes in with the wind, and the shadow is there. Pale, umoving, a statue that disappears when the wind sighs out through the window once more.
The lord keeps chess pieces in the carved game table beside the hearth. Ornate blocks of ebony and rosewood in the shape of wolves chasing hares. They never quite catch them. The ghost looks like the pieces, a carved bit of ivory that stares unblinking, waiting for the alchemy of usefulness to strike.
A white face peers out around corners. It watches unseen from the darkness that clings to the edges of the castle.
There is a ghost in the manor. Cold, fleeting, and insubstantial. It drifts past lead-lined glass, like a shawl caught on the wind.
None but the lord may trace its heedless footpaths over carpet and stone, following paths that lead where only the ghost knows.