The way Miaoyin saw it, you could find ghosts anywhere. They lived in your inheritance, in the comb a mother passed onto her daughter while on her deathbed. They could be found in the eyes of paintings, or in a chilling breeze. Spirits thrived in the imagination, in the subconscious – where another you was most vulnerable. They could, and would, be found everywhere - especially in a place like The Great Lake. Though he would never admit it aloud, Miaoyin was a firm believer in otherworldly spirits. It wasn’t logical, but certain aspects just couldn’t be. Magic wasn’t, dead soul priests weren’t, and yet there the two were, both interlocked with ghosts and spirits. You had to accept truths like that, and, with that in mind, Miao had decided to pay a visit to this lake. It was, perhaps he’d realize in hindsight, the smartest place to visit; after all, one could easily fine ghosts in the Marshlands. But the Marshlands, Miao thought, was the home to gimmicky, malicious ghosts. Here, at the lake’s edge, there were true, raw emotions. Dangerous and the faintest hint of blood spiraled together to form genuine fear, and Miao could’ve sworn that lake’s waters were comprised on tears. He sucked in a breath, letting his toes wriggle at the very edge of the sand; his feet wet and dry all at once. (Miao had removed his shoes and laid them neatly on higher ground, same with his coat jacket, so the boy was now standing in just his pants and an informal undershirt.) Pale hands folded and crossed themselves, and when he breathed out, Miao could see the faintest cloud of his breath. There was an eerie cold to this place.
Perhaps, Miao was beginning to consider, ghost hunting was not the best activity for today. It was late evening, far enough in the day that the sun’s descent wouldn’t be for a good number of hours, but late enough for the sky to begin to pickle with greys, navies, and deep purples. Maybe, in this receding light, he looked like the ghost. Pale, moonlike skin, his red earrings tussling and, faintly, chiming in the breeze, his red eyes standing out against the drab background. Perhaps… There was a certain irony to that, Miao considered, as he looked downwards, staring into his reflection.
What was he supposed to do anyways? He hadn’t come here armed with a plan, only an idea. And now he could feel his idea quiver and strain under the weight of the facts and realities Miao was now considering. How – why did he really expect to find a spirit here? Or was it supposed to find him? How would either parties do that? He was no dead soul conduit, why would any spirit seek him out? He sighed slightly, he had just wanted to see one, but maybe that had been too much to ask. Before, however, Miao had time to consider that, there was a sharp, childish scream. He could see some splashing in the distance, down the bank. Heart racing, the Lunarian boy began sprinting down the shoreline.
What could possibly be going on?
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