Though a part of me wanted to take up a position in the field and wait for (Y/N) to return, like a watchdog for his master, my pride wouldn’t allow it. Thus, I’d permit myself only two, brief trips near the forest every night. If I didn’t see her, I forced myself to continue walking, affecting an aloof manner and hopefully appearing to be in the area merely by coincidence.

With the rest of my time, I endeavored bold, new undertakings! After my last encounter with (Y/N), I felt an incredible zest for the afterlife that I hadn’t felt in more years than I could count. I began constructing small patterns on the ground at night, using twigs and leaves, in full view of the publicly toured areas of the castle grounds. I reveled in the puzzled, frightened, and delighted reactions each of my marvelous, little creations garnered come morning. I was careful to avoid recreating the suspicious symbols that I had learned from the hippies.

One night, as I strolled through the field, face steadfastly affixed in a mask of casual indifference, I was thrilled to see (Y/N) under the trees once again! She appeared to be inspecting the pieces of the stone I had thrown at her. Before she had chance to espy me, I quickly assumed the most refined and dashing, yet still relatable affectation I could muster, “A lovely eventide, to-“

She dropped the pieces of rock and wailed so loudly, so gruesomely, I would surely have perished from a heart attack had I not already been dead! As it was, I was so shaken, I took an admittedly rather ignoble several steps back and scrunched my face up, both bewildered and alarmed.

A blush actually graced her face, just like a living person, when she turned about and spotted me. “Oh dear! It’s just you; you startled me.”

Instantly I recovered, desperately pleased that she didn’t look angry with me, “I’ve heard you shout before, but never like that! You quite nearly killed me off again!” I felt the pleasure of extreme triumph fill my thoughts and explode in my spectral chest when I earned myself a soft smile. It made me realize she had a comely, little face over the rather bulky choker she wore. Briefly, I wondered why she was wearing jewelry when she was otherwise in nothing but a nightdress. It wasn’t even color coordinated! Had she thieved it? Curious, I endeavored to suss her out and learn the story of her murder.

I quickly fumbled for something to say, rather than waiting for her to reply, so as to ensure continuation of the conversation, “We’ve yet to be properly introduced. My name is Andrew, Andrew Biersack. I…” I trailed off when I got an unexpectedly strong reaction, disbelief written all over her face.

She shook her head, “Truly? The Andrew Biersack? The dead viscount?”

I beamed, full of pride, “You have heard of me?”

She chuckled, a bit derisively, and my smile faltered. “Of course! Everyone in town knew about the promiscuous fop that got his head cut off for sticking his sausage where it didn’t belong!”

Immediately, I was incensed! The beliefs of tourists didn't faze me, but I could not abide by my sole company thinking such things of me! “That hussy seduced me, then tried to convince me to put an end to her husband! When I refused, she…” (Y/N) was silently nodding, clearly amused, as though I was spouting absurd drivel. I sputtered, feeling terribly indignant, “Is that really my legacy? What people were told? I was hunted down and executed for refusing to be duped into becoming a lowly assassin! In my short life, I may have made too many decisions with, as you so delicately put it, my ‘sausage,’ but I was a casualty of a wicked woman’s machinations, not a-”

(Y/N) stopped smirking and raised her hands in a mollifying fashion, “-Alright! I believe you! At least you got to experience the good life before you got bumped off! I had nothing, never had nobody, and got killed for no reason-“

I couldn’t help myself. I simply had to correct her pitiable grammar, “-Don’t you mean that you never had anybody?”

The familiar look of disdain returned to her pretty face, “You’re all the same, the lot of you!” She spat at me in disgust before turning and marching off into the murky woods.

Furious with myself for driving her away, I called out after her hasty retreat, “(Y/N), please don’t be upset! I just don’t know how to communicate with peasants!”

I winced as I realized my indelicacy, and was greeted with a faint, haughty, “Ha!”

Desperate for attention and distressed by my complete loss of control, I couldn’t stop myself from piteously wailing, “Please! Come back! I beg pardon!”

That time, I was met only with silence in response to my cries. Feeling despondent, crestfallen, and scorned, I tore off my head and gave it a solid kick. Not nearly so painless as one would expect, I had a formidable headache by the time I managed to reassemble myself. With one, melancholy glance back at the treeline, I scampered off to the familiar refuge of my dungeons.

Notes

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