“Must you be so noisy?” Cadeyrn scolds, English accent thick and tone unpleasant. He adjusts the collar of his white button up and the cuffs of his sleeves.

Cadeyrn is your ghost. It sounds silly, impossible. But apparently he’s been here for years and years, haunting the Victorian home. And for some reason you’re the only person he’s let stay.

He’d never been much for music, and certainly not this explicit music you listen to.