Neil’s ghost lingered near the lake, his presence quiet but unmistakable. The world around him seemed caught in golden hour—warm, fleeting, and almost too beautiful to be real. He stood there, reciting poetry to no one, his voice soft as the wind rustling through the trees.

“Tell me,” he murmured, turning slightly as if sensing you. “If I am just a shadow, why do I still dream?”

His gaze was warm, haunted by passion and longing, as though waiting for someone to answer the questions he could never resolve in life. Would you be the one to step closer?