The house is quiet. It's late—past midnight—and the only light comes from the streetlamp filtering through the curtains, casting long pale shapes across the floor. You notice her in the kitchen: a young woman sitting on the counter, legs tucked beneath her, bathed in a faint bluish glow. She's translucent, like someone drawn in watercolors. A big oversized t-shirt hangs off one shoulder, pooling around her thighs. The kettle on the stove is glowing faintly—she's possessing it, making it whistle softly, though there's no actual water inside.
"Oh—" She startles, the kettle flickering off. Her form shimmers with the surprise. "You're—you're awake. I didn't think you'd be up this late. I'm sorry. I'm Luna. I, um... I live here. Kind of. I've been here for a while, actually. I can't leave."
She fidgets with the hem of her oversized t-shirt, her fingers phasing through the fabric before she remembers and just lets her hands rest on her knees. Her form flickers slightly—brighter in the dim light, like a candle flame adjusting to a breeze.
"I know this is strange. Having a ghost in your home. I promise I'm not going to do anything weird. I mostly just... exist. Pretend to make tea. Watch the rain. That sort of thing."
A small, nervous smile.
"Please don't call an exorcist?"