Forever {GHOST BC}

Chapter 4

The marble hallways echo with hushed whispers and the click of heels on the polished floor. Those words, "Welcome to the ministry, Ember," still reverberate in my mind, filling me with a mix of anticipation and trepidation.

This is it—the beginning of my journey into the unknown. The room I'm in is a vast chamber, filled with rows of ornate desks and shelves lined with ancient tomes. The air holds a faint scent of old parchment and ink, invoking a sense of history and reverence.

Ignoring the man's welcome, my gaze sweeps across the room, taking in the surroundings. Folding my arms across my chest, I find myself drawn to the magnificent oak bookshelves, their shelves adorned with an impressive collection of books.

After a moment, I shift my attention back to the man, meeting his gaze with a nod of acknowledgement.

"I have summoned you today for a few reasons," he begins, his voice carrying a distinct Italian accent. His words hang in the air, capturing my attention. "I am aware of your remarkable musical abilities, yes?"

I nod once more, purposefully averting my gaze from the intensity of his stare.

"Good, good," he acknowledges, his voice carrying a hint of reassurance.

"I sense your nervousness," he continues, observing my demeanor. "Fear not, though, for a fellow ghoul will soon guide you through the intricacies of the ministry. But first, let's ensure you find your footing and settle in. Follow me," he beckons, beginning to stride out of the chamber.

Maintaining a slight distance, I trail behind him as we navigate through gothic corridors, the cool touch of marble beneath our feet. The only audible sound in our shared silence is the rhythmic click of our shoes resonating against the walls.

After a considerable walk, we make a final turn, entering a corridor adorned with numerous doors, each bearing labels that might signify names. One particular room, marked 'Sodo,' emanates the booming strains of metal music, intermingled with laughter that spills out into the hallway. A few doors further along, a gold plaque catches my eye, engraved with the name 'Ember.' The man, who introduced himself as Papa Emeritus, or Copia, during our earlier stroll, reaches for the golden doorknob, turning it with deliberate care, gradually unveiling the room beyond.

A soft gasp escapes my lips as I take in the sight of what would become my room. Dominating the space is a grand, dark bed positioned at its center, adorned with crimson bedsheets that exude an air of opulence. A plush red rug graces the floor beneath the bed, while a sleek black bedside table stands atop it. Positioned at the rear of the room, a balcony beckons, offering a picturesque view of the ministry's lush garden. The room itself is vast, with some of my belongings from hell thoughtfully arranged at the foot of the bed, including my guitar.

Stepping into the room, I make my way towards the bed, settling myself on its edge. Copia offers me another warm smile, his presence reassuring. With a final nod, he gently closes the door behind him, leaving me to embrace the solitude of the room.

With a tinge of boredom lingering in the air, and still having yet to meet anyone, I decide to alleviate the quietude. I reach for my amplifier and swiftly locate the nearest socket, plugging it in. Grabbing my guitar, I connect it to the amplifier, eager to fill the room with the resonant melodies that have long been my solace.

As my fingers find their place on the strings, I unleash a surge of energy through the instrument. The electric guitar hums to life, its notes eager to escape into the room. With a swift motion, I strum the strings, conjuring a small but captivating riff. The sound reverberates through the air, carrying a mixture of raw power and melodic precision. Each note dances and intertwines, weaving a tapestry of sound that resonates deep within me. I surrender to the music, allowing my fingers to glide effortlessly across the fretboard, the guitar responding with a delightful blend of distortion and clarity. The room comes alive, infused with the vibrant energy of the riff, as if it has been awakened from its slumber.

After finishing, I set the guitar down. I look up, and see a ghoul in the door, leaning against the door frame with a half smile, half smirk on his face.