More Than Was Planned for Her

Millia had been walking for no less than twenty minutes and her excitement still had not waned.

I'm doing it! she thought gleefully. I'm finally out on an adventure and doing my part for an actual team!

So blithe was Millia that she did not allow the challenging terrain to sour her mood. It was not easy going. The forest was dense and wild. It was barely five steps before she would be climbing another steep slope, or ducking another thick branch, or vaulting another gnarly root. Daylight slipped past the canopy through narrow yet plentiful gaps.

But how could Millia not enjoy such a place? It was some of the most gorgeous nature she had ever seen. Everywhere she looked was a new plant. The vibrant colours dazzled and the sweet aromas delighted. All around her were countless forest creatures. They returned her gaze with perhaps even more curiosity than her, and they sang to her from afar with their echoing chorus.

It was an enchanting experience. Millia loved every part of it; from the whispering leaves, to the evasive critters, to the glimmering silhouettes.

Wait, the what?

Millia snapped out of her rose-tinted fantasy and focused on the shape in the distance. It was humanoid and the size of an adult. It moved like a person too; walking along, arms swinging. What was weird was the way it glowed. To have said that it was too bright to look at would have been incorrect, yet whenever Millia's eyes attempted to adjust to see past the light, she would suffer a pang as though she was staring at a star. It was like trying to look at a solar eclipse.

"Hey, you over there," the figure called out.

"Yes? Hello?" Millia answered, still struggling to get her eyes to focus. The shine was passively declining. Even when the figure stopped approaching, the effect continued to diminish.

"What's wrong with your eyes?" the stranger asked with concern.

"It's just that..." Millia began to respond before the glow finally receded enough for her to see clearly. Her words were further derailed at the sight of the luminous figure.

Opposite of Millia was a very cute woman. She looked human, with dark skin and hair that formed dreadlocks held back in a bundle. Her nose was wide and her irises were a mesmerizing brown. She looked as though she was in her late twenties. She carried a helmet under one arm against her side. She was covered from the neck down in the rest of the armour set. It was high-quality stuff. The one thing more noticeable than all of this, though, was that she was semitransparent.

She's a ghost.

"You're glowing..." Millia said with barely more than a whisper.

"Thank you," the stranger grinned, clearly amused at what she took as a compliment.

"No, I mean- well you are, but- I had meant to say-" Millia stumbled over her own words.

"GAH!" the stranger exclaimed in shock. She had taken a look at her own hand and apparently something was out of place. "WHAT? Am... am I..."

For some reason she stared deep into Millia's eyes with her terrified expression, as if she were somehow in on her unforeseen fate. Millia did not respond. Of course she did not know any more about what was going on than the ghost did herself. Something in the spectre's mind clicked and she bolted off the way she came. This jumpstarted Millia as well.

"Hey, wait up!" she called out, taking off in her wake.

Millia pursued her through the thicket. She had little idea what was going on, but this ghost was clearly distressed, and she was not about to leave her to figure it out herself. She pushed through a curtain of leaves to find the ghost standing still, head hung.

The cow girl walked around from behind her. "What are you..." she trailed off, seeing what had given the other woman pause. At the apparition's feet was a corpse; her corpse. It matched her in every detail, except that the body was the opaque that people were supposed to be. The expression on the stranger's animate face - ironic as that was - was some blend of confusion, betrayal, and despair. She looked like she was on the verge of breaking down, punching straight through a tree trunk, or remaining there in silence forever.

The inanimate face on the ground displayed quite a different visage. Two short trails of blood were still wet under her nostrils. Her mouth was closed but her eyes were open. Millia knew that in some cultures, respectful handling of the departed included closing their eyes. Now she knew why. The way those globes stared off into oblivion above was both deeply unsettling and somehow indignant for the stranger.

The body itself did not look otherwise remarkable. It laid there like the stranger had just collapsed and died on the spot. There was no evident cause of ****. No leaking stab, no missing limb, and no nauseating dent in her head. The bloody nose looked to be the only sign of something being off. Whatever had done her in must have been internal.

Millia's observation was disrupted when the stranger moved. Without a word, she knelt down to her body. She looked it over once, then sat and laid in it like she was getting back in. The ghastly form disappeared within the boundaries of her corporeal frame. Silence and stillness followed. Millia did not know what to expect, so she simply watched, unaware that she was holding her breath.

The body twitched and Millia flinched, screaming and jumping back. The body did not rise nor speak. It only twitched and spasmed. A moment went by with Millia as the captive audience, held by her own disturbance for this macabre performance. When the very-much-welcome end came, the ghost sat up from her remains, her waist intersecting with the body as her legs were still inside. She sighed with frustration.

"What was that?" Millia demanded, pointing unsteadily to both of the ghost's forms. She refused to be any more specific with her wording lest she remind herself of the details.

"I was hoping it was soon enough that I could return to my body, but either I'm too late, or I'm hurt that bad."

Some ghosts could speak with more fidelity to their living voices than others. Depending on the kind of ghost, they might sound distant, or echo-y, while others might sound like completely different entities from whatever they were in life. This stranger, though, sounded exactly as one would expect her to if she were using her own flesh-and-blood vocal cords.

"I'm sorry," Millia said sullenly. "I can't help you. I don't have any medical equipment nor healing magic." She brightened suddenly with an idea. "Our ship! It's nearby, and it should have at least some first aid-"

"No," the stranger stopped her. "I don't think there's anything to be done. When I was in there, I felt something - something decisive. It's hard to explain, but trust me, if there was any chance of bringing me back, I'd be screaming at you to do it."

Millia nodded her understanding. Another moment of inaction passed, the two of them surrounded by the forest and its ambience. The ghost knelt by her corpse again, this time reaching for her face. She dragged the hand down in an attempt to close her corporeal eyes, but the body did not comply. She tried twice more to the same result as not trying at all.

"If you don't mind..." she asked awkwardly. Millia did not hesitate to help. She dropped down and gracefully closed those eyes for the last time. Then, without being prompted, she got to straightening the rest of the body. She put the legs together and folded the hands on her torso.

"Thank you," the stranger said quietly. She and Millia kneeled on either side of the body, staring at it and ruing the situation.

It was a long while before either of them spoke. Millia went first.

"You know," she said softly, "help or not, I should probably get back to the ship and talk to my team. I don't imagine you want this to be your final resting place."

"You're right, I don't," the ghost agreed, but not bitterly.

In no rush, the both of them stood. But before they could leave, the stranger noticed a discrepancy. Reaching down, she took a hold of the sword hilt protruding from under her body's shoulder. Just as when she attempted to close her body's eyes, the material world did not yield to her touch. However, when she raised her hand, clasped in her grip was a spectral facsimile of the weapon. The phantasmal form lifted straight through the body. The stranger held the blade aloft; it was a claymore, an oversized sword that demanded two hands to wield. Yet the ghost did not look strained when she supported it with only one hand.

"Interesting," she mused as she hoisted her weapon over her shoulder and stowed it in the scabbard on her back.

I suppose that means swords have ghosts too, the cow girl thought to herself.

"Which way did you say your ship was?"

Millia pointed and led the way, her perplexity beginning to overcome her melancholy.