Eventually, Wolfram Burnett stepped out of his office, unable to ignore the commotion any longer. The fatigue clinging to him was obvious—even through his glasses, the dark shadows under his eyes stood out like bruises.
He looked between the guard and Lily, clearly irritated.
“What in the world is going on here?”
The guard scrambled to his feet and blurted out a report.
“Apologies, sir! A maid started causing a disturbance, and during the scuffle, the window broke!”
He made no mention of the part where he was thrown backward by an invisible force. Admittedly, that would be… a bit hard to explain.
“Tch. Just when I thought today might be quiet.”
Wolfram pushed up his glasses with a sharp, annoyed gesture, then looked at the shattered glass and the mangled window frame. His already sour expression darkened further.
Then his gaze shifted to Lily.
“You said you had something to tell me?”
His face made it clear—if this wasn’t urgent, she’d be handed straight over to the head maid with a one-way ticket to disciplinary training.
She spoke as politely as she could manage. “Yes, that’s right.”
“What is it?”
“Um… it’s not really something I can say out here…”
He pressed his fingers to his temples, muttering under his breath. “Of course. Everything goes to hell and now even maids are pulling stunts.”
Being compared to a dog or a cow wasn’t the worst part.
No, what really kicked in was her survival instinct as a servant. If this kept going the way it was… she wouldn’t just get disciplined.
She’d be fired. And not just fired—blacklisted. The kind of firing that meant she’d never work in a manor again, not anywhere nearby.
Panicking, Lily glanced at the ghost.
You said you’d handle the rest! Well? Now would be nice!
Thankfully, he didn’t leave her hanging.
[Tell him Wendell’s apples were truly awful.]
“W-Wendell’s apples were really… just terrible!”
Wolfram’s frown deepened at her sudden outburst—but then, his eyes widened.
“What did you just say?”
It worked. Somehow. Whatever that meant, it worked. Lily had no idea what kind of tragedy those apples had to be to become a code word, but she stuck with the plan.
“They were awful,” she repeated, trying to sound convincing. “Wendell’s apples. Absolutely terrible.”
“…How do you know that—? No. Don’t answer. Come with me.”
He turned without another word and walked back into his office. Lily hesitated just long enough to shoot the stunned guard a confused shrug before hurrying after him.
The door had barely shut when Wolfram wheeled around.
“How the hell did you know to say that?”
“Before I answer…” Lily clasped her hands like she was in prayer. “I, Lily Dientha, swear upon the grace of Lord Rumion—”
He cut her off instantly. “Spare me the theatrics.”
Right. Get to the point.
She dropped her hands and gestured toward the space beside her, where the ghost stood unseen.
“The spirit of Duke Idan Kashimir, who stands right here, told me.”
The wrinkle between Wolfram’s brows deepened. He looked at her like she’d grown another head. Her outstretched fingers slowly curled back into her palm.
Still, she pressed on with a whisper of a voice. “I swear I’m not crazy. I’m telling the truth. Every word of it.”
“You want me to believe that?” he scoffed. “That the Duke’s spirit is talking to you? What kind of twisted joke—what, you think just because His Grace isn’t here to defend himself, you can mock House Kashimir without consequence?”
Contempt flickered in his eyes.
“If you don’t explain how you got that information right now, I have other ways of making you talk.”
He made for the door again, and Lily instinctively leapt in front of him.
Whatever that “other way” was, it didn’t sound particularly… peaceful.
She shot another desperate look at the ghost, and thankfully, he delivered again.
[Ask him how the repairs on the Brutelou Bridge are going.]
“His Grace wants to know about the Brutelou Bridge. How the repairs are coming along.”
[And whether they stopped the restoration work because of me.]
“He’s worried they might’ve halted the work on account of his… situation.”
Wolfram stopped mid-step.
Lily seized the pause and pushed harder.
“I can give you more proof. A real bombshell. Right, Your Grace?”
Her eyes screamed please back me up.
The ghost offered her a faint, almost amused smile.
[I have one, sure. But it’ll embarrass Wolfram beyond belief. I’d rather he just accepted the truth.]
Lily cleared her throat and relayed the message.
“He says… he really hopes you’ll come to terms with reality soon. Because if not, he’ll have no choice but to humiliate you.”
“Oh, I see. Doing a one-woman play now?”
She ignored the sarcasm.
Because in that moment, she knew—she finally had the upper hand.
—
“If you don’t want me to know about your most embarrassing secret, I suggest you start believing me. For your own sake.”
“…Ha.” Wolfram let out a dry laugh, his lips curling into a mocking smirk. “Now I’m curious what exactly you think you know.”
Lily exchanged a glance with the ghost.
[‘To my dearest, Anna Cape.’]
“To my dearest, Anna Cape.”
[‘Today, as I ate a rosy pink peach…’]
The moment she said the name Anna and rosy pink peach in the same sentence, it clicked—this was a love letter. A private one.
Lily’s eyes widened in alarm. She looked back and forth between the ghost and Wolfram.
“Your Grace, isn’t this a little too… personal?”
The ghost was unmoved.
[‘Today, as I ate a rosy pink peach…’]
“Today, as I ate a rosy pink peach…”
Wolfram’s eyes snapped open wide.
[‘…I thought of the blush on your cheeks.’]
“…I thought of the blush on your—”
“Stop!”
Wolfram shouted, his face drained of all color.
“So… are you ready to believe me now?”
[‘Shame. I was ready to recite the whole thing.’]
“For the record, His Grace says he could quote the entire letter—down to the last line.”
“Why in the world would he remember that?!”
Wolfram practically exploded, eyes darting nervously around the room.
“He’s really here? The Duke’s… soul?”
It sounded like a question to himself more than anyone else. He was almost there—almost convinced.
Lily raised her hand and pointed with calm clarity.
“Yes. He’s here. Right next to me. In spirit form.”
Wolfram turned his eyes to the spot she indicated—glaring so intently that the ghost took a small step back.
“…I can’t see anything.”
“Would you like more proof?” Lily asked cautiously.
“…No. I’ve seen enough.”
Wolfram exhaled like he’d just released a lungful of smoke—except it was pure, existential exhaustion.
“So then… who exactly are you?”
“My name is Lily Dientha. I’ve been working here as a maid for—”
“That’s not what I meant. Are you a follower of Solmon?”
“What? No!”
Lily jumped, almost offended.
“I swore I wasn’t! I told you, I swear on Lord Rumion himself—I’m not a heretic!”
Her reaction was almost desperate. And with good reason.
Solmonism was an exotic religion from across the sea, whispered about in hushed tones since last year. They claimed to speak with the souls of the dead, to unlock hidden truths of the world—and more dangerously, to transcend mortality itself, abandoning the finite shell of life for the infinite spirit.
Their propaganda promised immortality and communion with wandering souls. Unsurprisingly, some citizens of the Empire—curious or desperate—began to fall for it. That led to chaos. Sacred sites defiled, temples vandalized. The Empire soon declared them enemies of the Divine, launching a full-scale purge.
Followers were hunted, arrested. Converts had their property seized. Their names erased, their faith branded into the skin of their foreheads.
And now… she was being compared to that?
[Someone needs to investigate the rumors about Solmonism more seriously.]
“His Grace agrees. He believes the rumors surrounding Solmonism deserve closer investigation.”
Wolfram rubbed at his temples.
“…Fine. It’s a fair suggestion. Given the nature of His Grace’s condition, I suppose it’s only logical to consider unorthodox causes. But even so—Lily, you understand how ridiculous this sounds, don’t you?”
His voice dropped to something uncertain, almost pleading.
“You’re telling me the Duke’s soul… detached from his body and stayed behind in the manor. You realize what that implies? Why—why wouldn’t you think he’s a ghost? Or worse, some malicious spirit?”
Lily blinked. The accusation stung more than she expected.
“…Do I seem like the kind of person who’d deceive you? Who’d exploit His Grace’s name for personal gain? In a time like this, with the castle under strain, with the nobles on edge—do you think I’d really risk that, just for some kind of twisted joke?”
She clenched her fists, fighting the rising heat in her chest.
“Why would I throw my future away for a lie?! Why would I risk being branded a heretic, exiled—or worse—executed, just for this?!”
Her voice cracked. She couldn’t stop it. The frustration, the fear, the injustice—it was too much.
Wolfram shut his eyes tightly.
“…Enough. I get it. You’ve made your point.”
[You really have a way with words,] the ghost muttered, quietly impressed.
While the ghost spoke, Wolfram wiped his face with a trembling hand. When he finally lifted his gaze, he looked like someone who had been mentally rearranged and now sat a little straighter, a little steadier.
“…What happened, Your Grace?” he asked quietly. “We summoned every physician worth their salt in the Empire. Not one could explain what afflicted you. They couldn’t even put a name to your condition.”
[Neither can I,] the ghost admitted.
“Still…” Lily took a shaky breath and stepped forward. “Whatever it is… I know this much—it isn’t evil. And it’s not some forbidden heresy. His Grace’s soul is still here because he has something left undone. Something important.”
She placed a hand over her chest, speaking as if this truth was stitched into her very skin.
“He wouldn’t be bound to the manor if it weren’t.”
There was silence, heavy and fragile.
“…To think the Duke of Kashimir has come to this,” Wolfram muttered, the words barely a whisper. “Even his spirit… left behind, clinging to this place.”
A tear, small and unexpected, slipped from Lily’s eye. She wiped it quickly, pretending it wasn’t there.
The ghost said nothing—but the way he looked at her… she knew he saw it.
He was the first to see her—truly see her—not as a maid, not as a nuisance. But as someone who stood, trembling, yet firm… by his side.
