Richard the Royal Ghost

You open your eyes, reflexively blinking, though finding that your lids aren't blocking any light. Looking down at your arms you find them still very much so your own, although very much so transparent. Your still in the midst of your banquet hall, though nobody seems to react to your presence. It seems you are no longer amongst mortal kind.

"Are you sure he is gone?" Vlad, one of your generals demands.

"As gone as any spirit can be," the serving girl, still naked, responds.

"And we won't be hearing from him, correct?" Jocelyn, one of your wives asks.

"No time soon," the witch responds. "I'll stake my craft on that."

"Excellent," Jocelyn leans back in her seat.

"And my payment?" the witch asks.

One of the guards tosses forward a bag of gold, which the witch slings over her shoulder, "If you should ever need an apothecary, you know how to find me."

At this traitorous exchange, you let out a bellowing scream of wrath and despair, from both the fact you were betrayed and the eternal torture that leaves you in. Despite the fact that you can hear the scream echo in your ears, no one assembled reacts, with the exception of the witch who smirks with the satisfaction of a job well done.