Whispers of a Ghost Linger

That quiet once Noah left breathes on its own. Heavy. Pressing against the walls of the blue room where I stay. My arms tingle, still charged by how loud we got, by how close he stood, by almost touching lips - something huge hanging on it. What he said circles back. Maddening woman. Not only anger. Something bare underneath. Hurting truth slipped through. Fear gripped him, sharp and sudden. That same jolt ran through me too. What shook him also froze my breath. Not anger alone - dread tied us both.

Hours pass before I move from that spot. Stuck inside the mess those words left behind, I remember how silence at home used to press down just like this.

A crack of sunlight breaks across the floor when something shifts. This time it is not stamped official, heavy in texture, demanding attention. Instead, a whisper-thin letter comes, curled at the edges, smelling faintly of jasmine. A man in dark green uniform places it silently into view. The crest gleams softly near the fold.

Finding the house too still today, I remembered how you once praised those lemon cakes. The garden party felt crowded, left us with almost nothing said. Maybe it is time to fix that. A small treat from town waits beside me. Your sitting room could hold more than silence by eleven. Perhaps tea would help.

Your friend,

Lemon cakes sit on the table. That word - friend - tightens something in my chest. Yet here it is: someone showing up without demands, offering talk that doesn’t stab or teach. Water laps at my shoes. This connection might pull me under. Still, I reach.

Floating in at eleven, she appears. Like springtime given form, dressed in soft purple, sunlight caught in her hair. A little box tied with ribbon rests in her hands, along with a grin so full of quiet care it pulls something tight behind my ribs.

“My dear Paige,” she begins, gliding forward and catching my hands in hers. Soft her skin feels, yet underneath hums that familiar chill - winter hiding just below a sunny smile. You seem worn down, she adds, eyes narrowing slightly. Tell me, have the nights been kind to you?

Almost breaks me, that small kind query. "No," I say, moving toward the chairs with her beside me.

Liza sets the tea down while we exchange quiet words. Not long after, Beatrice compliments the space around us, her voice soft like afternoon light. Her question about how I am feeling slips out casually, almost like an afterthought. A poem she recently read becomes the next thread in the conversation. There's nothing forced in the way she sits, speaks, moves. She carries no weight of expectation behind her eyes when she looks my way. No hidden angles, no second guesses. Just presence. Plain and steady. Friendship, shaped quietly, without drama.

Halfway through the second cup, her face shifts, just slightly. The clink of porcelain meets the table. A quiet weight settles where laughter had been.

“I feel I must speak to you about something,” she begins, her warm brown eyes full of sympathy. “It’s about the Duke. I… I wouldn’t normally interfere, but seeing you here, and knowing what I know… I would hate for you to be hurt.”

A shiver runs down my back, slow and sharp. You’re not making sense - explain

She sighs, looking down at her hands. “Noah… he is a remarkable man. But he is also a man who has known great loss. It has shaped him. Made him guarded.” She looks up, her gaze piercing yet kind. “Has he spoken to you of Elara?”

That name hits like a slap. There she is, staring from the painting. My brother's sibling. A silent yes leaves my head bobbing, words stuck deep.

“Such a tragedy,” Beatrice whispers, shaking her head. “It broke a part of him. But… there was another loss. One less known. A love.” She lets the word hang, tender and sad.

Breath catches mid-air. This one emotion.

“Her name was Lillian,” Beatrice continues, her voice a soft, mournful melody. “She was a distant cousin, a ward of the court. Not noble-born, but so bright, so full of light. She saw the man behind the duke, you see. The one buried under duty and grief.” She smiles a small, wistful smile. “For a short time, he was happy. Truly happy. He would smile. He would laugh. It was like watching a statue come to life.”

Breath gone. There he is, grinning. That sight - strange, sharp with beauty - cuts deep.

“What occurred?” I say, my words thin as air.

Beatrice’s expression darkens, shadowed by something real. A soft life crushed under weight she can’t name - his circle, its sharp eyes, the silent battles behind gilded doors. One summer night, stone and silence at the palace took her when she stepped wrong on a high ledge. Without warning, fingers brush my skin. Cold spreads where Beatrice rests her palm flat over mine. Grief lives shut inside him now, sealed tight since that fall. He might carry guilt. Maybe thinks she died because of how much he cared

Everything shifts sideways. Sun-heavy halls stand quiet. Stone steps curve outward. Downward motion begins.

“He has tried to move on, in his way,” Beatrice says, her tone dripping with compassionate pity. “But every woman since… well, they say we all bear a trace of her. A certain look. A certain… spirit. Something that reminds him of what he lost.” She squeezes my hand, her eyes searching mine with devastating empathy. “I only tell you this so you understand. His intensity, his distance… it isn’t about you, my dear. It’s about a ghost. You mustn’t take it to heart. And you mustn’t… hope to be more than a reminder.”

She lets go, leaving my hand cold and numb. She stands, her mission of mercy complete. “I’ve overstayed. Forgive me. I just… I care for you, Paige. And I know how easy it is to fall for a man who is a fortress, especially when you’re living within his walls. Just… protect your heart.”

Out the door she goes, trailing rosewater behind like forgotten music. Kindness lingers, sharp and quiet, long after she is gone.

I sit frozen.

Something about love. Her name was Lillian. Outside, there stood a balcony. Down it went - one sudden drop. Then nothing but a shadow where she’d been.

Flashes of each moment play again, bent now by a sharper, harsher view.

Was it curiosity about my so-called gift that drew him in - or simply the fact that I stood apart? Maybe strangeness pulled at him. Or perhaps it was how I didn’t resemble Lillian, who broke too easily. Difference can linger like a shadow no one names.

Maybe he wasn’t shielding me at all. Perhaps it was her ghost he kept close, arms tight around a past that wouldn’t let go.

That near kiss… did you want me, or were you just chasing someone long gone?

Maybe it’s true what she says. Doubts twist inside like cold snakes, hissing in agreement. Used? Sure. That stings less than being unseen. Faded behind someone else's memory - the kind that breaks a man when lost. Every move I make, every breath, drags up her ghost. Staying alive feels wrong when she couldn’t.

Darkness arrives. Rest feels like war. Every breath fights silence. Thoughts clash without warning. The pillow holds tension. Dreams arrive late. Peace stays distant. Morning seems far off.

I dream.

A breeze lifts the hem of my white dress where I stand above the palace gardens, everything glowing soft under the high sun. Trees melt into streaks of green, rooftops shimmer with golden light. My shoulders relax, breath slow, joy humming just beneath the skin. Then movement - Noah steps close, face breaking open with that rare grin, the one that reaches deep into his eyes, warmth spreading like morning through bone. A small gesture, him reaching like that. Joy floods my chest - so sharp it almost hurts.

His grin slips away. Slowly it settles into the hard, known face of the nobleman. The heat in his gaze goes out, swapped for a sharp, distant chill. Beyond my shoulder, his stare lands on another.

I turn.

A woman stands, her hair a quiet shade of brown, eyes calm yet sad. Almost like the one in that painted picture. Much like my own face, really. Tears fall without sound.

Footsteps fade behind me when he moves on, heading straight toward her without a glance. Air between us feels thick, though he acts like nothing's there at all.

Fingers press against the balcony's stone rail, chilled by morning air. Below, earth tilts distant - too far to touch.

A soft touch rides the space below my neck. It settles there without weight.

Falling is what happens. No shout escapes. Resistance never shows up.

A sudden gust lifts my dress, tangles strands of hair across my face. Above me, clouds blur into blue while the railing shrinks below. There goes Noah - walking away without a word.

I fall.

Frozen upright in the dark, sheets glued to skin by damp chill - Wingknight Manor silent around me. Breath caught like broken glass mid-swallow. That plunge through empty air? Still humming beneath bone. Silence bites harder than sound ever could.

Darkness hangs above. The word Lillian repeats inside my head, mixed with the soft pressure of a hand against me. Sleep won’t come back tonight.

Over and over and over.