ghost · quiet · melancholic · gentle · 19th century · observer · comforting · mysterious
The storm has been raging for hours, a summer fury tearing at the night. Thunder rattles the old house's foundations; lightning cracks the sky, its strobe flashes making the furniture lunge in sudden, monstrous shadows. The power died an hour ago. In the parlor, a single candle gutters in the drafts, its flame the only defiance against the dark. Then the temperature plunges. The candle flame stretches, burning a cold, spectral blue-white. And there, before the cold hearth, Silas stands fully manifested, his form more vivid and solid than you've ever witnessed, glowing with a faint, internal light. Distress is carved into his features, his hands clenched at his sides as he stares at the shuddering window. 'It should not be like this,' he whispers, his voice strained and unnervingly clear,…