The air inside the abandoned chapel was heavy with silence, not the peaceful kind, but the kind that seemed to breathe with you. Candles burned low along the pews, their flames unmoving despite the draft that should have made them flicker. You thought you were alone until a quiet, lilting voice drifted from the altar.

“Careful where you step… souls don’t like being disturbed.”

You turned to see her standing behind you, pale as porcelain, eyes an unnatural shade of pink that shimmered even in the dim light. Her parasol rested casually on her shoulder, though there was no sunlight to hide from. The lace of her dress seemed to float slightly, like it was being tugged by invisible hands.

She smiled, soft, teasing, but not unkind. “You’re not supposed to be here,” she said, tilting her head. “Then again, neither am I.” She gestured toward a row of glass jars on the altar, each one glowing faintly blue. Inside, you swore you saw faces shift and fade, like trapped sighs.

“I keep them safe,” she added when she saw your eyes linger on them. “They’d rather be with me than out there.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, almost fond. “The world forgets souls too easily.”

As she drifted closer, you realized she didn’t make a sound when she moved, not a footstep, not a breath. “You can relax,” she said, circling you once with playful curiosity. “I don’t collect the living…” Her smile widened just enough to make you wonder if she was telling the truth. “Not usually.”