Ser Dalius’ right brow began to twitch. The young woman sighed as she swung her legs off the stone lid of the coffin.

“Look, Dalius, or whomever you are. I’m a young woman. I got here after stepping off the sidewalk in a city aboveground. One second I was crossing the street—the next I fell out of the skies here. After wandering about for over a day, I meet a strange ghostly ‘knight’ who nearly chops my head off then asks for my name. Who gives their name out like candy?”

The man just stared at her, jaw slightly agape. He managed a strangled response.

“Fell out of the…? Who wouldn’t give their name when asked?”

“Suspicious people. Like me. Call me Cara. And hand me one of those roots.”

He did, almost stunned. Cara reached for the root and her fingers went through his. She recoiled, shook out her suddenly-numb hand.

“Gah! Cold!”

“I am a ghost. Did you not feel the chill of my death when you tried to strike me?”

“I did—but I thought you wouldn’t freeze me when you promised to help!”

The [Knight] seemed a tad guilty.

“I cannot change my nature. Would that I could—”

He looked at her hand, and then placed the now icy-hard root on the lid of the coffin. Cara eyed it as she warmed her skin against her body.

“Are you sure that’s edible?”

Ser Dalius unhelpfully shrugged.

“I scraped off the dirt and outer layer of skin with my sword. Beyond that—there is little sustenance in this place. I regret to say that this tomb was never meant to accommodate the living in any fashion. Only the damned mice intrude here. Pests. It is one or the other. Or dirt.”

“Great.”

Because she was starving, she bit into the bitter root, chewed. You could eat wood. Probably. Cara sat there, chewing, and then coughed. Ser Dalius offered her more water. After a few more seconds, Cara looked at him.

She was past the point of asking if this was real. He’d probably not have a good answer, anyways. So she rolled with it. She was good at improvisation. Although, she’d jump off a skyscraper before she joined an improv group. Cults, every one.

“You’re a ghost?”

“Yes. Well—one assumes so.”

He seemed uncomfortable. Cara stopped chewing and stared at him.

“You assume so?”

“No one has ever confirmed my existence as a ghost. I have battled spirits in life, but I do not know if I am a Ghost, Wraith, Shade, Specter, some sort of bound Revenant, or other manner of undead.”

He was so matter-of-fact about it. Cara blinked at him.

“Okay. But you were alive?”

“Indeed I was. Ser Dalius Bedornial of Afiele, a Knight-Errant in the Order of the Shadowed Blooms.”

He bowed again, repeating his flowery title. Cara felt her strength returning as she rested more weight on her legs.