With Isadora away on family travels, Edwin's stay with us took on a pleasantly steady rhythm. At first, he'd been reserved, speaking in carefully chosen words and watching the estate with the sharp eyes of someone unused to letting his guard down. But Celia's boundless cheer proved relentless, chipping away at the stoic exterior he maintained. Bit by bit, he softened, and soon even his rare, quiet laughter mingled with ours in the warm corridors of our home.
One evening, the three of us lay sprawled across Celia's spacious bedroom, surrounded by the remnants of books and half-eaten sweets. The soft flicker of candlelight played along the walls, casting shifting, playful shadows that added a sense of adventure to our late-night storytelling. The night felt alive, buzzing with the secrets only childhood can hold.
The door creaked open, and one of the older maids stepped in with a knowing smile. She was a woman of wise eyes and a wry sense of humor, always ready to indulge our antics just enough before shepherding us off to bed. This time, she lingered longer than usual, her gaze sparkling with mischief.
"My Lady, my Lords," she whispered, as though sharing a forbidden secret. "Have you heard the tale of the ghost?"
Celia's eyes widened, and she sat up immediately, her silver hair catching the light like spun moonbeams. "A ghost?" she gasped, excitement and fear blending in her voice.
The maid nodded solemnly, stepping closer and lowering her voice. "Yes. The ghost of the Silvaria estate—a figure that roams these corridors in the dead of night, searching for those who disturb her rest… in the basement."
The room fell silent. Even the candle seemed to flicker in anticipation. Edwin's skeptical expression faltered for a moment before he crossed his arms with an exaggerated huff. "A ghost in the basement? Really?" he said, raising an eyebrow.
Celia's excitement morphed into indignation, and she crossed her own arms to match his. "Yes, really! Just because *you* haven't seen one doesn't mean they don't exist, Edwin."
"They don't exist because no one has seen one," Edwin countered, his voice lowering into a mutter as though trying to convince himself as much as her.
"Oh, please!" Celia shot back, rolling her eyes dramatically. "If you're scared, just admit it."
Edwin's eyes narrowed, his cheeks flushing slightly. "I'm not scared. Ghosts are just stories for children."
Their voices rose, teetering on the edge of an argument, and I stepped in before it could escalate further. "Enough, you two," I said with a chuckle, holding up my hands to silence them. "There's only one way to settle this. Let's go down to the basement and see for ourselves."
Both turned to me, Celia's wide-eyed excitement contrasting with Edwin's cautious curiosity. The maid, who had been watching with a barely contained grin, gave a mock gasp of surprise. "Are you brave enough to go down there, my Lords?" she teased.
A shiver of anticipation ran through me, mingling with the thrill of adventure. We exchanged glances, a silent pact forming among us, and without further hesitation, we set off down the hall, the candle casting long, flickering shadows on the stone walls.
The silence was thick, broken only by the muffled creak of floorboards beneath our feet and the rhythmic ticking of the grandfather clock in the main hall. The air grew cooler as we approached the narrow staircase that led to the basement, its wooden steps old and worn smooth by years of use.
Edwin cleared his throat, attempting nonchalance. "There's nothing down here but storage, you know."
"Maybe," I said, a sly smile tugging at my lips. "But let's find out for sure."
Celia's hand found my arm as we descended, her grip tight and warm, betraying the nervous energy beneath her bravado. Each step seemed to echo louder than the last, and the air grew colder still, a damp, musty scent rising to meet us.
The basement was vast, its stone walls lined with crates, barrels, and shelves overflowing with forgotten relics and dust-covered heirlooms. The candle's light danced across these objects, casting shapes that shifted and stretched in the dim glow.
We ventured deeper, the silence broken only by the occasional drip of water somewhere in the distance and the scuttle of what might have been a mouse. As we rounded a corner near an old stack of barrels, I stopped short.
There, in the faintest reach of the candlelight, a pale figure hovered, almost indistinguishable from the shadows. It was barely more than a wisp of light, but in the stillness, it seemed to pulse, as if watching us with unseen eyes.
Celia gasped, her breath catching as she clutched my arm tighter. "It's… it's real," she whispered, her voice trembling.
Edwin's bravado fell away, his face paling as he stared, wide-eyed, at the figure. "It's just a trick of the light," he muttered, though his voice was strained, as if the words could ward off the specter.
The figure shifted, its outline wavering like a mist caught in a breeze. That was enough. A surge of instinctive fear sent us scrambling back, tripping over one another in a rush to the stairs. The candle sputtered dangerously, casting wild shadows that seemed to chase us as we bolted up the steps.
When we finally emerged into the hallway, breathless and wide-eyed, the faint glow of dawn was just beginning to touch the edges of the windows. Our breaths came in gasps, and Celia's eyes darted from me to Edwin, searching for confirmation that what we'd seen had been real.
"Well…" Edwin finally managed, swallowing hard. "Perhaps… there's more to this place than I thought."
Celia, her face flushed with excitement, turned to him with a triumphant grin. "I told you ghosts were real!"
Edwin opened his mouth to retort but stopped, glancing nervously over his shoulder before deciding against it. Instead, he muttered, "I still wasn't scared."
Celia's smile widened. "You looked scared."
"I did not."
"Did too."
I laughed, the sound cutting through the lingering tension and drawing their attention. "Ghost or not, you both were brave to go down there," I said, resting a hand on each of their shoulders. The sincerity in my voice seemed to soothe them, and they exchanged sheepish smiles.
As we settled back into Celia's room, exhaustion finally caught up with us. The candle, now burnt down to a stub, flickered its last before extinguishing, leaving us in the soft glow of the dawn.
The next thing I knew, the warm touch of sunlight woke me, streaming through the large windows. A voice, familiar and amused, drifted over us. "And what do we have here?"
I opened my eyes to see Mother standing by the door, her arms crossed and a curious smile on her lips. Edwin and Celia stirred beside me, blinking groggily as they realized where they were.
Celia sat up first, her hair a wild mess. "Good morning, Mother," she said with a sleepy grin, glancing at Edwin and me as the memory of last night returned.
Mother's eyes glinted with amusement as she looked us over. "It seems you three had quite an adventure. Would anyone like to explain why the heir to the Archdukedom and the children of the Grand Duchess are all tangled up in one bed?"
Edwin sat up straighter, a hint of color rising in his cheeks. "We… we saw something last night," he began, a hesitant tremor in his voice.
"Yes!" Celia chimed in, her eyes wide with renewed excitement. "It was a ghost, Mother! In the basement!"
Mother's smile softened as she listened, nodding patiently as we recounted the story in excited, overlapping voices. Celia described the ghost's appearance with the detail of an artist, while Edwin interjected to emphasize that he hadn't been scared, just cautious. I filled in the rest, adding my own observations.
When we finished, Mother gave a thoughtful nod. "I see. Well, I suppose there's only one way to resolve this, isn't there?"
We exchanged glances, confusion mingling with anticipation as she gestured for us to follow her. The walk back to the basement felt different in the morning light, less foreboding and more like a puzzle to be solved.
When we reached the corner where the ghost had appeared, Mother lifted a lantern and angled it just so. The light caught on a dusty, old mirror propped between crates, its glass cracked and clouded. The reflection shimmered faintly, casting an eerie, shifting glow onto the wall opposite.
"There," she said with a satisfied smile. "Your ghost was a trick of light. When the candle or lantern shines just so, it reflects here and bounces onto the wall."
Celia's face shifted from awe to embarrassment, her cheeks flushing pink. "So… it wasn't a real ghost?"
Mother chuckled softly. "No, Celia, not quite. But it makes for a good story, doesn't it?"
Edwin's shoulders relaxed, and he offered a sheepish smile. "I told you it wasn't real," he muttered, though he couldn't hide the relief in his eyes.
Mother knelt beside us, placing a hand on our shoulders. "Even if it wasn't real, facing the unknown takes courage. That's something worth remembering."
As we climbed the stairs back to the main hall, the tension melted away, replaced by the warmth of shared adventure. Celia leaned close to me, whispering, "It was still pretty exciting, wasn't it?"
I grinned, giving her a playful nudge. "Yes, it was."
In the bright light of day, the memory of the ghost already felt like a cherished secret—an adventure that had turned an ordinary night into something extraordinary.