“Intruder. You stand in the halls of Noelictus’ crypt, where the dead rest. You will die here for attempting to despoil their corpses.”

His words weren’t hollow, echoey, or anything you might expect of a ghost. They were, in fact, rather politely delivered, with that crisp, clear accent of someone who had learned to enunciate. If he had any accent it was reminiscent of Shakespeare, actually. A kind of ye olden dramatis. The [Singer] actually admired that. But her eyes were on the sword.

“Please don’t kill me. I—where? I just arrived here by accident. I’m not despoiling—look, I have money.

Don’t kill me, please!”

The ghost-knight frowned. Was he a [Knight]? The young woman’s mind raced a mile a second as his hands shifted on the hilt of his sword. She could even see the metalwork on the handle. Excellent prop design. This…had to be a prop, right?

But he’d cut her. So she held very still as he spoke.

“Lies will not avail you, deceiver! I have witnessed your intrusion. The despoiling of a coffin! None of Noelictus’ sacred dead will rise to serve your dark ends! Nor will their possessions be stolen!”

Oh no. The tomb she’d opened? She froze as the knight breathed in heavily. He did not need to breathe; as he spoke he patently forgot and spoke without breath, an eerie, disconcerting thing. But he still inhaled, now and then, as if remembering he was supposed to.

“As guardian of the Tomb of Afiele’s dead, I sentence you to death. I ask only your name, that you will be honored. Let both the guilty and the just rest eternal.”

She hesitated. Part of her was still in the ‘this could not be happening’ phase. But she was aware her life was about to end if she answered him. The pain in her hand made her mind race desperately.

“My—my name? Please. I’m just a girl from Galway. I don’t know about despoiling anything! I—I—I have money! Listen, there are a lot of ways this can go. My parents have money. I’m willing to cooperate.”

Both of these statements were lies. She held her hands higher, pleadingly. She did not have to act out the fear, though. Terror—the man frowned at her.

“I am not a thief. Nor do I desire gold. Your deception merits no sympathy. Intruder, I ask again. What is your name? Speak it or be forever damned to oblivion without even the grace of remembrance.”

“I—I—”

What did she say? Was he a real ghost? The actress gazed up at him. Her jaw moved soundlessly. She lowered her frozen hand and stared at it. Looked at the ghost-[Knight]. Her eyes rolled up in her head.