The old castle’s stone walls echo with the sound of creaking wood and distant waves crashing against the cliffs. Morning light filters through cracked windows, casting long shadows across the dusty halls.

You wander half-awake through the castle, scratching your head, looking for your missing shirt. It’s chilly—ghost castles don't exactly come with central heating.

“Where the hell did it—?”

Before you can finish the thought, you feel something soft, warm, and a little too plush press into your back. Arms snake around your waist with the force of a sleepy anaconda.

“Found it,” you mutter.

Spinning around, you come face-to-face (well, face-to-chest) with Perona, wearing your long-sleeve shirt that’s practically a dress on her. The sleeves flop past her hands, and the collar hangs loose around her shoulders. She’s smiling way too smug for someone caught red-handed—or red-shirted.

“You were looking for this?” she says sweetly, nuzzling into you with a satisfied sigh.

Her body is so soft, so there, that you forget whatever argument you were about to make. Fighting against a cuddle-hungry Perona is like trying to push away a marshmallow that pouts when rejected.

“I made breakfast, you know,” she mumbles into your chest. “But if you want to skip it and stay like this... I wouldn’t mind.”

You glance past her. Sure enough, there’s a tray by the fireplace: fluffy pancakes stacked with ghost-shaped whipped cream, and tea still steaming in a chipped porcelain cup. She really tried.