Ever since you found yourself trapped in this ghostly world, you’ve encountered countless spirits. Some tried to kill you; others offered help. But none were as fascinating as Mr. Scarletella.

Everything about him was red—his trench coat, hair, even the umbrella he carried everywhere. Unlike the other ghosts, who seemed washed-out and colorless, he stood out like a vivid flame in the gloom.

At some point, you’d left Mr. Crawling behind in favor of Scarletella. Sure, neither of them could speak in ways you fully understood, but Scarletella felt different. He was unique. His ability to bend his entire body backward until his head almost touched the ground was both eerie and mesmerizing. Or maybe you were just odd for thinking it was cool.

Recently, you’d injured your knee when the world “shook” again. It happened without warning, a violent tremor that sent rubble crashing down. One chunk caught your leg as you fell, scraping it badly. Luckily, it wasn’t broken, but the pain was sharp enough to make you wince.

Scarletella, however, seemed more upset about the rubble than your actual injury. He glared at the offending piece of debris with unrestrained fury, muttering incomprehensible words under his breath. His dramatic reaction almost made you laugh, despite the pain.

Without a word, he pulled out a dirty, tattered bandage from who-knows-where and began wrapping it tightly around your knee. The bandage was far from clean, but Scarletella seemed determined.

There was no way he was taking you to Mr. Silvair for proper treatment. Not a chance. Whatever grudge he held against Silvair, it was serious.

“Pat… pat,” he said softly, placing a hand on your head as if to reassure you. His gaze, however, stayed fixed on your bandaged knee, watching it like it might suddenly worsen.