“Hello.”

Her arm was outstretched, gently fingering the spine of a book. When she head the voice, one all-too familiar, Arreis spun around. Her arm lowered quickly, but still managed to hit a bit of the wood on the shelf. She stared ahead of her. The library was empty, so why was she hearing voices? She closed her eyes, muttering that it was all in her head, and turned back with a quiet sigh. She quickly reverted her attention to the book she was examining, though half-heartedly. His voice put her on edge.

“Arreis, I'm over here.” The voice was closer this time. And quieter. A hint of a laugh finished up his phrase, causing her to shudder. Shaking her head, she decided to ignore it this time. “I'm not surprised...” it rang again, quieter still, “that you, of all people, choose to ignore me.” His laugh was quick and concise, it sounded sarcastic. “But that's okay.” The voice was now just a whisper in her ear. She could feel the breath coming from his mouth, but didn't dare turn her eyes towards it. “It just gives me an excuse to ramble.”

Her foot moved back slowly and silently. Her gaze didn't leave the book's spine. The voice came again. “I love you, Arreis. You do know that, don't you?” A chill moved down her spine as he spoke to her, the breath going into her ear: it was cold. Shivering, Arreis turned her head in the other direction. “Of course you know that,” he told her, causing her cheeks to flush red. “You said it right after I died. Yes, I remember that now.”

She was confused. The entire situation was absurd—he was dead, he wasn't here. She was just imagining it, that much she was sure of. But why was she so terrified? He spoke again: “If you loved me...” he began, with what sounded like a sigh. “Why would you let that happen to me?”

He was tugging on her heartstrings.

“Why would you let me die?”

Finally, Arreis reacted. Holding her breath, the woman turned to face the deceased. When she did, there was nothing there, as if he had vanished. She still heard his laugh. “We could have started a family together...” His voice came from beside her yet again, his breathing against her cheek. The could feel his lips moving against her jaw. He was enjoying the torment.

“Leave me alone,” Arreis said sternly. Her eyes shot in his direction and made out part of his figure. As she looked at him, he smiled and raised his hand, laying it on her cheek. Goosebumps formed instantly in the spot he touched and the chill from his head spread right through her body. Once again, she turned to face him. His one hand already positioned, he raised the other and pulled himself closer to her, kissing her.

It was like frostbite, the feeling spreading through her body. Her lips began turning blue and she closed her eyes. “Help!” she called. And when she opened them again, he was gone. All she had to prove of it was the fact that her lips were purple. Moving a hand to cover them, she shouted again: “Help me, please.” This was the second time he had 'found her'. But he was dead, she didn't understand.

((Feel free to come save a terrified girl.))

This was nothing unusual, to find Troile in the library, beneath a massive stack of books. In fact, this was where she had passed her mornings for the past year as she waited to leave Lomedor. As a city, this place was nothing to scoff at. Troile was impressed by the wealth of books the city library possessed. Even rare works by the like of Gaius of Throedale, that master of the darkest branch of Troile's art, had made their way here to Lomedor. Under precautions, of course. But Troile was ostensibly a scholar and had no record of any wrongdoing.

Obtenebration. The stuff of nightmare. Planar magic, the darkness conjured by one's own hands from another level of existence. Troile had not done it yet, but had felt the call of obtenebration in her blood. Part of the reason this book even existed here was that obtenebration was not a skill one could just learn. A practitioner was either born with aptitude to learn the magic, or not. The definition and instructions were equally vague, something akin to "what happens when you do the thing that draws it out." Massless, substanceless, the dark arms of shadow were incredibly strong, and difficult to counter. Unworldy, to look upon them without warning was to experience complete terror of the unknown. Darkness just isn't supposed to exist like this. Shadows just don't move around of their own volition. And they certainly don't reach out and grab someone! Even Troile, so knowledgeable about the elusive substance, felt an equal measure of dread as anticipation as she waited to manipulate it.

While working out a theoretical problem she heard shouting, and felt a stab of anger. Some people were trying to get work done, and woe to those who would interrupt them! Eyes narrowed, invective ready to fly off her tongue, Troile was startled by the words "Help! Help me, please!"

What manner of creature...?

Troile rose from her seat, aware of the knife in her shoe. She moved quickly towards the sound, her eyes scanning and finding a young woman...and a mist of ectoplasm surrounding her. Troile bit back a laugh. A ghost of the 4th order. How pathetic to find him here. A disgrace!

"How shameful of you," she said, addressing the spirit,"to come here to this public place. You have no tact. Return home. You're not even worth the time of whoever gave you this shell, abomination. If they saw you here, you would surely be obliterated."