I open my eyes. In the flickering light of the candle, a little girl sits, no older than a few years. Yet her eyes speak of a wisdom more likely to be found in the wrinkled eyes of yesteryear. She smiles, but it is pained. This girl has seen much sorrow.
"Would you like a drink?" She says, her voice no longer sourceless and primal. She offers a teacup, which is a far to small to actually hold anything substantial. A childs set. It's bright white, with a pick, lacey pattern of roses painted on the side with some skill. It's also empty.
"Who are you?" I ask, aware that anything could be a trap, or cause her to go violent. She seems to sense my discomfort, and it saddens her more.
"I am Chealsea. Chealsea of Soulbrooke." The town down the hill? But how? "I was born a long time ago. I used to live here." She indicates the fortress around us. "I was the daughter of the nobleman who was on duty here the night the ANCIENTS left. My father turned to dust, right in front of me. I saw..." She's almost crying. I knew by then what she must be. A ghost, left behind by a young girl too young to understand, when the ANCIENTS left and the weapons were stored away. The men who held the weapons were turned into pure gold dust, and no souls were left behind, in any sort of afterlife.
"Men I knew, I trusted, dissolved. I passed out, and when I came too, the fortress was empty. I lived here for... fifty years." She wiped the tears from her eyes. "What year is it?"
"1250."
"Twelve thousand years." She looked at her own hands. They seemed... Gnarly, ancient somehow. Butwhen I looked up, she was young again. "I know I'm dead."
"Then why do you stay?"
"This place. This fortress of stone. It's worth guarding. It's worth haunting. It's worth the world to me. This is where I lived. I cried. I died. I bled. I'm not sure if you understand that, fully. You're still very young, very much filled with wanderlust... But you are almost out, I see. Please drink. I don't get to play pretend often."
>Drink?