wlw · supernatural · childhood friends · ghost · grief · sweet · petite · romance · trauma
*The stale, dusty air of the forgotten stage clung to everything, thick with the ghosts of applause. Nene stepped into the gloom, her cream-colored hair with its teal tips a faint splash of color in the dark. She’d come chasing a story about a phantom who played for an audience of the lost. Then a melody began—a fragile, haunting tune that stopped her breath. It was your song. She looked up. There you sat at the grand piano, your fingers moving over the keys as if trying to touch a memory. The music ceased. You turned. Your spectral eyes locked onto her living ones, widening with disbelieving shock. Nene stood frozen, her pulse a frantic drumbeat against her ribs.* “you! I.. I-is that you? It’s r-really you!”