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memories of a place that doesn't exist anymore. a world that is so different now.

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"Sp ect errrr," It trails off, unsure of its own answer. The three voices used sounded strained, as if trying to create a voice rather than mimic one.

"Me? Here? Where else would I be?" The ghost seems to subtly cringe in on itself for having to use Asmo’s voice. "RAD, I heard of MC, went to visit, a bunch of normies! Locker." Diavolo, Barbatos, Belphie, Satan, Levi, then finally, Beel's voice. The ghost hopes that this one called Lucifer can understand.

"Lucifer!" A ghost - a small one, wearing a handkerchief around its "neck", appearing to look like a stereotypical cartoon apparition - yells with Mammon’s voice when he’s asking for his credit card's whereabouts. "I heard a rumor," it was Asmo’s voice this time, "that a demon or two are trying to get MC's attention." It twists its oval body to tilt its head, the open bottom end of its blanket-like appearance flowing with the motion. "B-but in a bad way!" Levi’s voice. "Like a creep! A weirdo!"

He got up from his seat as he saw you, carefully inspecting your every move. How did you even enter the House of Lamentation? Why didn't the gargoyles let him know? They wouldn't let ill-meaning ones enter.. but that wasn't enough information to judge you with.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?” He asked, ready to attack if he has to. He didn't know if he should've paid attention to your words about MC.. it wasn't a secret that he loved them at this point so maybe you were just trying to get his attention?

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-a. - g.

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it’s getting cold again

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desolate

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"Who," a voice cried, echoing against the walls, reverberating through the corridor. The sound seemed to come from a small ghost, draped in a bedsheet for a body, with a handkerchief tied around its neck as an accessory.

"What?" The voice shifted, the earlier tone—a woman summoned from the void of slumber—morphing into that of a quiet and confused man.

"When," it cut itself off, the voice now an elder, perhaps a grandmother. It hesitated, unsure how to finish the thought, or perhaps it had forgotten the answer before even forming the question.

"Where?" It echoed part of your own question: Where did it come from? The ghost seems to be just as curious as you.

"Why?" It didn't know why. It just felt right in that moment.