The house had stood there proudly for more than a hundred years, the elegant timber resisting erosion caused by more than a hundred summer. It was abandoned, left alone in the whirling sea of cities being built and families moving in, a disruption of what was once peaceful and serene. This house however hadn't been touched in a while. Empty and alone. The death of the neighbourhood flower shop owner had shocked everyone, brutal images of blood seeping through wooden floorboards and a pale face had been shared all around the town. By who? Nobody knew. Short chestnut hair had been splayed across a peaceful face, eyes closed and lips full, scarlet syrup staining their features and standing out incredibly against the once honey coloured skin.
They'd been twenty-one when they were killed in cold blood. A delivery of anemones and white stargazer lilies to the boy down the street and a spray of water across the red begonia's situated just inside of the quaint store. A pat of the neighbourhood's new puppy, the grace of a vibrant smile put even the brightest star from Canis Major to shame. A meal so vibrant and delicious, shared across a candlelit table with a man so ethereal to the other, with the promise of new beginnings in the upcoming seasons.
Then the click of a gun and the slice of a glistening silver blade. Screams so high in pitch it put even the best singer out of business, the splatter of enticing red liquid dripping off of golden skin and seeping into the soft silk of a robe. A dull thud followed by yet another click. They were found in their bedroom later that night, once again by the man so ethereal, and suddenly the town was in chaos. The killer was unknown up to this day and age.
The house was empty. The pictures of a heart engraved deep into the flesh of a hipbone had been removed from the town people's eyes, but not from deep within their minds. The once ethereal man became cold and distant, bright copper eyes turning lifeless and unwilling. He'd left a few years earlier, and hadn't been seen since.
That was the second murder in the bloodbath of a house. The first was only a few years before, a nineteen-year-old killed in the same way, a heart engraved on the opposite hip bone. The second murder seemed to be a reminder, a reminder not to touch what belonged to somebody else. A reminder that even in the most peaceful of towns there was somebody so willing to murder, to kill. There was always a reminder of the darkness in the world, the false hope and aspirations that humans held were fickle and cruel.
There lives a tale that ghosts have soulmates in their realm, that once they find that one soul that was destined for them, they'll be able to touch again. Colours will return to their black and white world, and their being will become stronger. Much stronger. So strong that perhaps a special human would be able to see them again. However, this tale only works for those so deep in love with each other that they're unable to see the other beauties of the world around them.
Those two that had been killed still existed. The supernatural realm wasn't talked about as often now, and ghosts never seemed to exist to those over the age of sixteen. The two had been as close as ever throughout the ten years of knowing each other - it had taken a while for the younger to warm up to the new ghost. They'd been close, but not close enough. Their transparency was evident, and they were able to glide through doors and walls. The world had been painted in shades of grey and black, ashen and wretched.
But not anymore.
Colour was swirling up through the two of them, painting their skin in shades of ivory and honey, and their hair in patterns of brown. Nothing felt warm, nothing felt real. Everything was still as cold as it had been for the past decade, but the feeling of being able to touch something after that long, gruelling period of time made smiles graze their faces. The younger's hand twitched slightly, jolting the soft skin hiding the cheekbone beneath it. They let out a soft gasp, moving their thumb along the older ghosts cheekbones delicate, scared that a single wrong move would disrupt the moment that had just happened.
They were still transparent, but their entities seemed almost stronger. No longer a fading white, but a bright burst of colour. The older ghost was beautiful, they thought. Light chestnut hair, soft tan skin, round glasses and a white sweater. Even though they could see the peeling beige paint of the wall through the body standing before them, they were still beautiful.
A tear trailed down the older's cheek, leaving a salty path in its wake. The younger moved their hand down the older's neck, leaning in and pressing a soft kiss where the tear had stopped moving. The grin across their face was shared, and a chuckle was whispered between them.
"Why do you think we can only touch now? Why not from the start?"
"Soulmates have to fall in love, right? Maybe we had to wait, to wait longer than others to make sure we were in love."
"I knew I loved you since I first saw you."
"I know, I know. I did too, loved you from the start."
The room had erupted into colour, shades of brown and green painted the worn walls. The two stood silently, taking in the colours.
"I never believed in this kind of stuff, you know? Never thought that I'd find someone. Never really tried to find anybody."
"I always believed but... But I never thought it would actually happen. To me, at least."
"Together?"
"Together."
Those that do manage to find the person they were destined to be with will live happier. More colourful, even brighter, stronger. Those special people will live a better life, or perhaps a better dead. Sometimes, love isn't found when searching. It's found in the most ridiculous situations and at the most unexpected of times. At the best of times.
