[January 10, 2043]

Aina ud Cormac was delighted to be hosting a tea party. Growing up with barely any friends, isolated by the barriers of her status and own pretentious personality, she had never had the opportunity to have a pleasant get-together with young women around her own age. It had been more effort than she had been expecting to find a day where all five of the female inhabitants of Otter Manor could be present at the same time for an afternoon gathering (Ellie and Ram in particular were difficult to clear schedules for), and thus, her enthusiasm and impatience had grown quite large. On the day when the tea party was set to happen, she was practically beaming from the moment she woke up — her excitement manifesting additionally in frantic moments and speaking in a higher pitch than usual.

Typically, hosting an event would involve a variety of obligations, but as Aina was a princess, it ended up being the guests who carried the weight of organizing and setting up. Mel had washed and prepared a fine white tablecloth, as the residents of Otter Manor didn't employ one when they typically ate breakfast and dinner in the dining room. Ellie and Ram fetched the blue-and-white china teacups from the kitchen cupboards. Ellie (who was taller) passed half the china to Ram (who was stronger), and together they brought them outside to the expanse of lawn behind the manor, through an auxiliary door by the staircase. There, Bridget had carried a round table from the entrance hall with the help of Cal. Technically, Aina had insisted Cal be banished from any proceedings regarding the tea party as the day was for "myself and my elegant friends!", but the princess hadn't wanted to get the dust that had accumulated on the underside of the table on the cute satin dress she had picked out especially for the afternoon, so she ended up acquiescing to the caretaker's help.

However, finally, after many delays and comparison of schedules, the tea party was ready. It was a warm day, about two-thirty in the afternoon, and all the female tenants were situated. Aina was at the "head" of the table with Bridget to her left and Ram to her right, with Ellie and Mel sharing the "foot" of the table, in the direction of the large wooden tool shed a few dozen feet behind the manor. Cal's temporary suspicion of banishment had been rescinded at Aina's forcible protests. He was now upstairs in room 01, muttering before he departed that he had some classwork to catch up on before starting preparations for dinner, which he had hinted with a small prideful smile would be rice with homemade Kung Pao chicken.

The conversation started slowly, mostly carried by Aina's enthusiasm and Bridget's conversational skills. In truth, the female tenants of Otter Manor, while they had various relationships between themselves, had never established a group dynamic together — Cal was the buffer that facilitated many of their prior interactions. With him absent, it took some time for the awkward atmosphere to begin to vanish.

Mel especially was uncomfortable, her nervousness indicated by the constant tapping of her bare foot against the cool grass, obscured by the draping tablecloth. She had never felt especially close to any of the other young women of the house and therefore had failed to establish any sort of close dynamic with them. In truth, she privately felt a stronger friendship with Cal's good-natured friend Sirius than she did with anyone else at this tea party — and he had only come around a few times to binge a scary movie or two. She had never had any female friends growing up, and the aristocratic private school she had attended had been an all-boys institution — when she wasn't all by herself in the hospital. This was all a new experience.

It didn't help that Aina seemed insistent on making Mel the crux of the conversation. She peppered Mel with compliments and questions, which made Mel increasingly self-conscious. The ghost had always been extremely intimidated by the princess of Luvinia — by her station, abrasive personality, and beautiful figure.

"It's a wonderful, wonderful property, worthy of any royal habitation," Aina was saying, gesturing around her at the lawn. She had seemingly forgotten she had insulted the manor the day she first arrived. "Your father must have been very proud of its construction, and showed it off to fellow royal clans."

"Y-yes," said Mel quietly, pressing her hands hard against her knees. "I think I mentioned this once before, but he built it in the style of a time period he admired for its architecture, so it's quite unusual as far as buildings only a few decades old. He likes to have parties for his important friends. There would be tents on the lawn, and me and my little brother would hang out together by the island shore while the adults talked…"

"That sounds quite lovely," Bridget said, smiling as she took a small, elegant sip of tea from the china. Then, with a thought, she studied the cup. "So we're drinking from your father's own items now, then? I suppose these cups have been used for many parties in the past as well."

"They're my mother's, actually, her family acquired these in the 18th century." Mel said, gaining confidence as she began to explain her family's past. "My little brother cleared out a lot of our families' possessions long before he turned this place into a student accommodation. But not everything it seems. He wasn't too fond of how arrogant mother was about her family origins, and so he probably didn't put a lot of stock in preserving the old heirlooms."

I wish I could ask Isaac face-to-face, she added silently.

"Damn, so you're old money, huh?" Ellie had yet to drink from her cup, instead opting to casually tap its rim over and over with a fingernail. "That's pretty sweet. Where I'm from, my family had to eat pretty much the same bland, calorie-efficient stuff every day, because it was cheaper to export to the backwater I was born in."

Ellie then looked around and laughed, breaking the tension that had formed from her words. "But hey, it must have been pretty sweet to grow up with dough. Come to think of it, Mr. Frost has that sort of air about him, like he's from a distinguished family. It's kind of cute when paired with how demure he is."

Mel blushed a deep red, and looked to the young woman next to her with a fierce expression.

"What?" Ellie smirked, shrugging her shoulders. "I'm just saying your brother's hot, Mel."

There was a giggle at the other end of the table, and Mel looked up, amazed to see it was Bridget who was wiping her mouth with the end of her napkin and mouthing an "excuse me." The typically cool-headed attendant appeared to have choked with laughter while taking a sip, and was now dabbing the tablecloth where some tea was beginning to stain the white material.

"Wait, what?" Ram was the only one who didn't appear to have connected the fact that Isaac was Mel's sibling, despite the fact that she had long known Otter Manor was Mel's family estate. "Mr. Frost is… whaaat?"

This last exclamation was paired with her shaking her head, her blond curls waving dramatically in the air — overcome by this new, unexpected connection.

"Geez, you need to pay more attention, dude." Ellie reached over to the center of the table and tossed an animal cracker into her mouth from a plate that Cal had left there. "You're too busy hanging out with your boyfriend, I suppose."

It was Ram's turn to flush bright red. "Ellie!- I mean… he's not my b-boyfriend… we just… go places together… and sometimes hold hands…"

"I mean, that's like eighty percent of what a boyfriend does, isn't it?"

"Ellie, p-please, stop…"

"But she's right in a way," Aina interjected. She appeared to have tuned out of the conversation and was only just gathering her thoughts. "Mr. Frost does have an aristocratic air to him. While you, Mel… well, not to say you don't have a suitable appearance for such a stature but…"

Aina frowned, considering Mel's appearance rudely, and only snapped back to attention when Bridget gave her an irritated nudge in the ribs. "What I mean to say, um, is that your hobbies don't quite align with what I understand to be royal behavior-"

"Again, my family isn't royalty-"

"-Like for instance, those movies you're always watching are quite strange, so bloody and explicit," Aina nodded to herself. "It's quite a lower-class sort of entertainment, wouldn't you agree? Now, I won't deny there's a certain attraction to this invention called a television — I myself have frequently indulged its charms when the rest of you are at your place of education. I particularly like those… phooey, Bridget, what did Cal call them?"

Bridget seemed to be having trouble keeping a straight face. "Cartoons, my lady."

"Yes, those!" Aina clapped her hands together, a movement so energetic it made her long red hair bounce. "I particularly like the one with the dog that transforms into a girl with magic powers. Every week there's a new monster from the wilderness that attacks the farm, and she must fend them off with her strength and wits without her owners discovering her true identity. It's quite economic, poetic storytelling — similar to the hymns we have back in Luvinia."

"Monster-of-the-week is such a nice format," Ram piped up, half an animal cracker hanging from her mouth. Her brown eyes were shining with sincere enthusiasm. "I always like stories where a hero has to fight a whole array of bad guys, all of whom are super different from one another."

"I knew there was a reason I assigned you to be my guide for this world, Ram!" Aina seemed delighted and happy as she leaned forward and grasped Ram's hand in excitement, which made the other girl squeak. "What exquisite taste you have! We ought to watch the cartoon together sometime! It's called Magic Canine Poppy!- oh, Poppy is the name of the dog, but you will learn such details by watching-"

"You guys have such specific tastes," remarked Ellie, who had finally taken a sip of tea and was now looking at the contents with uncertainty. "Just give me anything with action and titillation and I'm good to go. What were those goblin serial-killer films you and Cal watched a bit ago, Mel? Those were awesome. Someone was getting stabbed or plowed every five minutes, it was great-"

"Oh, The Green-Faced Killer films?" prompted Mel, her encyclopedic knowledge of B-film horror immediately identifying Ellie's vague description. "There were six sequels, starting in '88. I think you watched all of them with me and Cal."

"Dude, yes! You should bring more stuff like for movie nights!"

"And I still don't understand it!" pouted Aina, returning to her original thought. "What use is there in being scared? Oh, not that I'm scared of that sort of stuff, understand? I'm just above it! That's why I never watch them. Bridget, tell her how I never was frightened at the Luvinian fairy tales you told me before bed when I was a child."

"I cannot, as that would be a lie, my lady."

There were some snickers around the table, except for Mel, who had a strange expression on her face.

"What 'use' is there?" Mel said, repeating Aina's original question, her blue eyes filled with complicated emotions. "I suppose they don't really have a use. I have no good answer. They… made me feel alive. That's all."

"Oh," Aina's face became more serious for a second as she considered Mel's face. "Well, that's an interesting answer. Perhaps one day I will understand precisely what you mean."

Then the moment passed, and she turned back to Bridget. "Ah, thank you for reminding me of the word cartoon, Bridget. Some amusing things happened to Poppy this week, and I want to recount it to Cal over dinner! It will earn a belly-full of laughs from him! That will brighten up his dour face!"

"Of course, my lady." Bridget smiled and nodded, though a touch of discomfort had reached her brown eyes. She tucked a strand of her hair over her ear — as was her habit. "Well, in a manner of speaking."

"What manner?" Aina threw back her teacup and emptied its contents into her mouth, apparently having now completely abandoned any pretense of ladylike behavior. "I shall! I'll teach that peasant to learn to truly appreciate my company. He has softened slightly, yes, but he has yet to embrace my benevolence and humor completely, yet to pledge himself utterly to me as a princess that he adores! But no worries! I shall straighten that out in time."

"O-oh, really?" whispered Ram, her eyes wide at this revelation.

"If anything, you have to admire Aina's confidence," Ellie said, smirking on one side of her mouth.

"Yes, of course!" said Aina. "Nobody can resist my charms for very long, my dear friends."

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"And I'm sure Cal will fall head over heels for you eventually, my lady," said Bridget with a playful tone, though she still seemed uncomfortable about something. "All I mean to say is getting that specific reaction would be difficult."

"Why are you being so obstinate about this, Bridget?" Aina put the teacup back on the table, slightly harder than necessary. She was still in good humor, but her voice took on the air of annoyance, of a royal who didn't find it amusing to be contradicted. "What, are my stories and presence not pleasant enough for him to enjoy? If I say he'll laugh… well… he will!"

"My lady, please don't be mad, I didn't mean anything by it," said Bridget. "It's just…"

Bridget was picking at the brass button of her uniform that was fashioned over her chest, looking around the table as if asking for help. Inexplicably, her eyes found Mel's, who turned away in discomfort, anticipating what was about to happen next.

"It's just what?" pressed Aina, clearly confused why Bridget was acting so nervously. Her green eyes were narrowed and she looked a little insecure. "Is there something wrong with what I said?"

Bridget put her gloved hands up. "No! No, my lady. Only… it's just… you know…" Her voice dropped down a level, like she was confessing some secret. "Well, my lady… as you know… Cal doesn't laugh."

There was short, stunned silence at the table. A warm wind disturbed the white tablecloth.

"What?" It was Ellie who first broke the quiet with a rough, nonplussed interjection. She fixed Bridget with an incredulous stare. "Bridget, what are you talking about? That's not true."

She thought about it for a moment further, then shook her head. "Yeah, that can't be true."

"It is," Bridget said shortly, looking downward, as if ashamed. "I noticed it rather quickly, the first week myself and my lady arrived. He doesn't."

"Don't be silly, Bridget," Aina said, smiling again at some joke known only to her. "I've seen Cal laugh plenty of times. He may be a very serious person, but that statement is taking things too far."

"Really, my lady?" asked Bridget, in a tone that indicated she already knew the answer. "When were these times?"

"Well…" Aina rubbed her forehead in exasperation and exhaled air loudly from her mouth. "Okay, so maybe laugh is a strong operative word… but I've certainly seen him chortle-"

"Chortle?" interrupted Ellie intensively, aggressively leaning over the table to get the strength of her statement across. "No, I've never seen Cal chortle. In fact, I can say with certainty such a thing has never taken place in my presence."

"Well, alright!" Aina seemed angry, though not at any of the other women in particular. "That's… we're playing with definitions loosely. Ram, assist your princess! You must have seen Cal at least chuckle once or twice, yes?"

"Oh," Ram replied unhelpfully with wide eyes, clearly not having anticipated being questioned about this particular topic. "Well… hmm… yes, I think I've seen him chuckle a few times."

She blinked, seemingly regretting the phrasing immediately. "Um.. maybe chuckle is a strong word, though. I've seen him, you know, express amusement… um, audibly… with sort of a small outtake of air." Ram seemed to want Bridget to take over from the way she was glancing at her, but the attendant was still looking down, picking at her brass button, seemingly lost in her thoughts. "Oh! But… um, I've seen Cal smile. He does that more often, now. So, that's something…"

There was another short silence.

"No, come on, this is ridiculous," Ellie was again the first to speak. She had an ambiguous expression on her face, as if amused by the remarkable conversation and yet simultaneously disturbed by its implication. "Come on, we've lived with this guy for a quarter of a year! None of us can think of a single instance?"

She gestured helplessly. "Mel, you spend more time with the dude than anybody else here. You've seen him laugh once or twice, haven't you? Just at some dumb joke, or at one of those schlocky movies you're always watching together?"

Mel tensed up as all the eyes of the other women turned onto her. She pressed her knees together under the table, conscientiously pressing her knuckles against her thighs as she felt her mouth dry up under the unexpected scrutiny. For some reason, Bridget's brown eyes were the most nerve-wracking. It was like Mel was under a spotlight.

"Oh… yes." Mel lied, a familiar chill running through her body. "Once or twice."

Then she quickly changed the topic.

After the tea party had concluded — after the dishes had been stacked in the sink for Cal to wash and the table and chairs returned to the entrance hall — Mel went down the grassy slope outside Otter Manor. She was by herself. The air was a little cooler. The winter was beginning to remember itself.

Soon, the days would become bitterly cold.

Mel didn't go where she usually went to people-watch, at the front of the mansion, instead she went diagonal, away from where the gate led to the city street, to the secluded bank where the slope of grass met the shore. There was no beach of sand, only a parapet of stacked cobblestone, meant to prevent any wayward tenant from accidentally falling into the cold water below. When she was a child, Mel had never been allowed to play by the edge of the property by her mother or father. There were only two short cobblestone stairwells jutting out of the surface of the wall, one at the back of the property and one at the leftmost side. If a child who wasn't good at swimming fell into the water, it would be extremely unlikely that they would be able to rescue themselves.

Mel took a deep breath of the air that skipped along the surface of the water and billowed her dress. Then, she looked behind her, and then to the left, where the back of the property and the tool shed were visible. Yes, she was alone. Except a shiver down her spine and a dark memory throbbing in the back of her head.

"You're here, right?" Mel called aloud to the wind. "I remember you. Come out."

"Let's not get cute, spirit." said the woman beside Mel. She was leaning on the cobblestone parapet. "I'm not here all the time. You could have been easily calling out to nothing. How embarrassing."

"I sensed you."

"Oh, you sensed me, did you? You make it sound so impressive. It's only because we're similar sorts of entities, divided by an incalculable magnitude."

It was the woman Mel had encountered back in October, the day Cal had gotten sick. Today, she was wearing a fashionable leather coat accented with hues of dark blue, a shade that complimented her dark hair and eyes. She was pale as bone, her sharp face looking at Mel with an expression between amusement and exasperation.

Mel ignored the woman's caustic words. Instead, she floated forward through the air to look at her directly, and the woman raised an eyebrow at this unexpected movement.

"I forgot you," Mel said, softly. "I met you and I forgot you."

The woman shrugged. The sun was lowering slightly, inviting a colder breeze to drift through the grass and catch the ends of the woman's hair. Framed behind by the pale sea, the dark figure of the woman looked like an impressionist painting, a notion intensified by the elegance and beauty of her movements and posture.

"And then you remembered," the woman remarked, like she resented the fact. "Unfortunately, my control is not perfect. Reality always has a way of throwing a spanner in the works. I could make you forget again, of course, but such a thing would have diminishing returns in effectiveness — so it would be a wasted effort. How long ago did you regain your memories of our encounter?"

"A while," Mel replied, nervously flexing her wrist but doing her best to keep her eyes on the woman. It was the strangest thing, it was like the harder she looked the harder it was to discern any particular detail about the person she was talking to. "When Cal's sister Adelaide came to visit. She said some things, and it all came rushing back. But even before then…"

Mel shook her head. "It was like the memory was always in the back of my mind but I couldn't recall it. Like I could react to its presence without ever directly knowing it."

"Adelaide," the woman hissed, her beautiful face contorting with ugly anger. "That clumsy fucking interloper. I should have known. As always, she brings in complications to my design."

Then her face relaxed again into picturesque regality. "So you've recalled for about a month? And haven't told anyone about me? How naughty."

"Even when I remembered, I couldn't be sure that I didn't imagine or dream the whole thing," replied Mel. "It was so surreal and seemingly random. And besides… I had the feeling…"

Mel swallowed, breaking eye contact despite herself. "I had a feeling like if I said anything… you would hurt me. Or them. I don't know… but I had a feeling."

The woman didn't respond to this, though her eyes glinted with delight — as if Mel was praising her in some way.

"You…" Mel began, then shook her head once more. "What… what are you? How are you able to do… what you did with my memories and with-"

Reality jumped. The particles skipped forward.

"Time?" said the woman, grinning, repeating words that existed but Mel didn't remember saying. "I can do a lot of things. Not everything I wish to be able to do. I cannot control minds. I cannot determine who loves whom. I cannot see into the future as far as I wish, not in the way I can see the past. Most maddeningly, I cannot often directly affect events in ways beneficial to me. But I can do enough, little spirit, enough that you should feel humbled for even sharing my presence."

Something swirled in Mel's stomach, a sort of churning darkness that threatened to be ejected through her lungs, but she managed to catch her breath by solidifying her hand so she could put weight on the cobblestone wall. She did not know if ghosts were capable of throwing up. She didn't want to know.

Mel breathed in and out, trying not to gasp aloud, cognitively controlling the pace at which her small chest rose and fell.

"What do I call you?" she managed at last.

The woman frowned. "Typically I wouldn't consider you significant enough to give such information… but…" The corner of her mouth moved, interrupting her thought midway. "Why not? You surprised me in our last conversation, and you continue to do so in this one. You may have my name. It's Freya."

"Freya… that's a pretty name," said Mel diplomatically, still trying to control her breathing and her racing thoughts.

The woman tilted her head slightly. She clearly was surprised despite herself at Mel's compliment. "Thank you, little spirit. I like it too."

Mel winced, her hand finding her stomach. She could feel the pounding of her heart through the palm. "I never liked my name when I was alive. I was always jealous of girls who had cute names." She thought of the other tenets at Otter Manor. "I still am."

"Melvin, was it?" Freya upturned her nose, like she was considering some difficult problem. "Appropriate for a child born into your station, but I grant you, not particularly romantic. No, I much prefer your chosen name. Melody. A name that connotes music. Song. Drifting, melodious, vibrating air. It suits your free-natured spirit that exists beyond the material body."

It was almost a normal conversation. The anxiety in Mel's chest began to dissipate a little bit as she attempted to form questions in her head that would give her the information she wanted. She wasn't sure when the woman's fickleness would lead to her disappearing or even wiping Mel's memory again, despite what she had said.

"Okay, Freya," she said. "And… what are you to Cal, exactly? Why do you have an interest in him?"

There was a sharp look of annoyance that made Mel flinch backward half a step.

"I answered that already in our last conversation, didn't I?" Freya hissed. "He is my lover. He belongs to me. My property, as per the rules."

Mel held her breath. "Sorry… I mean… what did you do to him?"

Freya smiled widely, snake-like, her hair billowing behind her. "Now that is a better question."

She stepped closer to Mel, looming over the ghost intimidatingly, her dark eyes shining with maleficent light. "When I reached him, and when he kissed my hand, there was barely anything left of him, in truth. He was in pieces. But I thought him worthy of my love and saved him. For a time. Until he couldn't stay away from me any longer. Ah! It's tough being a popular woman."

Somehow, sound didn't seem to exist anymore. There was only Freya's voice, speaking harshly and cruelly. "First, I devoured his innards. They tasted like salt and sawdust. Next, I inhaled the air in his lungs — his voice could form expression no longer and could now only recite empty words that he learned elsewhere. Then I placed his heart in my tabernacle, where it beats even now, red and bleeding, like a wailing animal. Then he was perfect and empty, ready to fill with my love. Then I stowed him into a dusty corner and forgot about him. That's what happens when you're done with a toy, isn't it?"

Sound slowly began to return to the world as a strange, ambiguous expression crossed over Freya's face — wind, the crunching of earth, the cries of seagulls. "Except this certain toy wandered off all on his own, and found a doll's house to play around in. It's all quite unusual, truth be told. Now I have to check in now and then, to make sure nothing is getting out of hand."

She scowled at Mel, though in a way that almost seemed like she was acting out a pantomime. "That no bothersome ghosts get confused about their roles."

Mel felt strangely calm, but perhaps it was the anger burning in her body. "You're bizarre. Sick. Absolutely insane."

Freya laughed with gusto, a terrible mocking laugh that shook the entirety of her lithe body. She looked strangely tall, as if standing on stilts. "What a roller-coaster it is to speak with you. You are completely inconsistent! When I gaze upon your father's house from afar, I can barely tell you're there! — you fade into the background so often. And yet, when I visit myself, you come alive, peel yourself from the wallpaper to exchange barbed words with me. Talking with you now, one could almost mistake you for the main heroine! I can see why you like my Pascal. You two have a similar sense of righteous indignation when the moment calls for it."

Mel summoned all the bravery she could muster in her small body and pointed a slightly shaking finger at her opponent. "If I'm the heroine, then let me say words worthy of the role. I think you're a petty, viscous person, and I don't want you near Cal. I'm not going to lose to you."

Freya's eyes flashed dangerously. "Is that a confession of love?"

"Yes," said Mel. "One ardent and overdue."

Freya laughed once more. "Such passionate words! I believe I'm beginning to fall for you as well, Melody Frost. This is all so delightful. Goodness, who was the last person to speak to me like this?"

"Sorry, but I'm not interested in the possessive types."

"Oh, Melody Frost," Freya folded her arms and nodded slightly to herself, leaning back against the cobblestone wall. She seemed to have let the prior intensity leave her body. "You really ought to have taken my offer of oblivion when you had the chance. It would have been so much less painful for you."

The empathetic tone of those final words almost sounded sincere. Then, Freya let out an outtake of air. "I've stayed awhile. I wasn't planning on speaking to anyone today, but you so charmingly drew me into conversation that I lost track of time — how ironic." Freya's face became stony. "Needless to say, Melody Frost, if you try to seek help against me, perhaps that brave-hearted attendant or those infuriating sheep of light, I will do more than harm the parties you involve. And that includes Pascal. I prefer him like he is. Lost and confused, and inevitably on his way back to my embrace."

She snapped her pale, bony fingers, as if signaling something. "Oh, but I'll leave your memory alone. Why not? I'm curious how you will try to prevail in your love. And when you fail, when you exhaust every option, every emotion, every sincerity of feeling, I'll be waiting for that moment. I'll gobble you right up, or grant you oblivion. Whichever you prefer. Farewell, little spirit."

Time lurched and Freya was gone, replaced by cold air and shifting shadows.

Mel stood alone again. For a moment, she didn't know what to do or where to go. Then she clapped her face with her palms, hard enough to make her freckled cheeks sting a little.

"I might have overestimated my abilities here, but… it feels good to say out loud," she said to herself, after a few minutes of silent contemplation. It was a habit acquired after she had first awoken in this ghostly form, after many months of being invisible and inaudible to everyone. "I'm in love. Saying it out loud… it feels like a lodestone. Like I can keep existing for just a bit longer every time I utter it. "

She spread her arms in front of her, addressing the empty air. "My name is Melody Frost. I fell in love for the first time after I was already dead. Now that's a story worthy of a heroine."

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