Gabrielle felt their smile slowly dissipate along with the disappearance of Mx. Ghost Painter. The atmosphere became less chilling than when the ghost was around, albeit cold all the same. A storm is brewing after all, but Gabrielle somehow found themself unbothered by the frigid air.

It’s warm, because they know that they are exactly where they need to be. However, they could somehow align themself to what the ghost was feeling.

They let out a loud snort as soon as those thoughts came forth.

What a bizarre thing to have in mind, isn’t it? To relate to a ghost. People must think that they’re all bonkers for living with a ghost—one who’s a painter as well—but they’ve all grown quite fond of that spiritual entity, strangely enough. Besides what can they do? Salem said that the ghost has lived in the manor for ages and would present themself to the people who lives inside it, especially when they deemed those people worthy of seeing them—whether those people like it or not. It would be rude to just shoo them away and frankly none of us are fit to be a ghost hunter. Most of us are artists after all.

Gabrielle could only think of how lonely it must be to live that long, and they often say that they’re no stranger to loneliness, but they couldn’t lie about how it almost drove them to the peak of insanity. They shook their head violently as despairing thoughts starts to resurface and resort themself to turn on the music instead. They draw in a long deep breath before performing a pas seul from Giselle. One, two, three...

...their thoughts couldn’t help but wander back to the memory of how they were first introduced to the people in this manor. It was a lively night in Paris after such a lovely theatrical play. However Gabrielle was not celebrating that night, rather they were overwhelmed by lament. They had just gone out to find some fresh air after being bedridden for months due to a fatal injury, which leads to their retirement as a prima ballerina—the world of ballet is cruel to non-binary dancers after all. You either became a ballerina or a ballerino, there’s no in between.

The injury was not fatal enough to make them stop functioning altogether, but the healing was complicated enough to get them out of the stage long until the memory of them would be buried by new shining stars. People called them The Fallen Swan and Gabrielle called those people insipide in return. Gabrielle hate the nickname. However, they found themself in awe of the theatrical play that night and it made them remember their love for art once more. They crave to write and act as good as those people, they wanted to visualize fantasy and just create... art—with words, with music, with expressions, with every inch of their body dedicated solely to create a masterpiece.

It just so happens that Salem—which was the writer of the play—was nice enough to offer a hand and introduce Gabrielle to the rest of the group, which leads them to where they are right now. A thirty something years old art student, a ballerina retiree, and a true devotee of the group who’s ready to follow through with every adventurous path they’re going to take to create masterpieces.

Choosing to live in this manor with these people is the best decision Gabrielle had ever made. These people taught her that the world may be a stage, but it doesn’t always have to be a competition for the performers to stand on the so called stage—for everyone have their own roles to play and their own moments of glory, and it truly works wonders for Gabrielle’s previous bitter way of thinking—a product of spending years in the ballet world and being told that striving for perfection is always a must by their parents. Gabrielle is still learning of course, but they have nothing to worry as long as they’re surrounded by the people they love.

Their movement and their wandering thoughts halted abruptly as the booming sound of thunder cut through the music.