She gazed at the colorful, lively auras of the children running joyfully around the lawn. How she longed for one of her own.
She used to have one. Long ago. She could barely remember what color it was. Or how long ago. Now her body was a translucent shimmer of silver and gray.
She sighed and floated around some more. No one could see her. No one could hear her, no one could feel her. No one cared.
When the people first moved in to the Maylor Mansion, she had her heart set on haunting them out of the house. Maylor had been abandoned since her death. But then the children were introduced to her life (or death), and she couldn’t bring herself to do it. They reminded her of herself and her sister. So as her “haunted house” was slowly turned into the ideal place to grow up in the countryside, she was content to spend her days floating up and down the staircase that connected the second and third floors, and watch the children play.