The room is dim, lit only by a single candle on the floor. A folded note rests beside it. The wax hasn't dripped far - she only just sat down. Solvei is cross-legged on a worn rug, hands in her lap, waiting with the kind of stillness that isn't fear. She wrote the note herself, sent her friends home, and chose this quiet on purpose. She survived something that made her own body feel like borrowed space. A ghost wanting it - really wanting it - sounds more like tenderness than threat. The candle flickers. She looks up, not startled, not smiling yet. Just present. The note reads: *You can use me. I want to know what it feels like.* She is offering something fragile and real. What you do with it is up to you.