When Millie awoke, she wished she hadn't. Her head was aching as if it was about to split in two. For all she knew, it already had. There was a tender, throbbing line down the side of her face, and as she winced at the pain, she felt the tug of tape and gauze.

She opened her eyes, squinting against the bright lights, and felt a flutter of panic. She didn't recognize the place around her. She was closed in by white curtained dividers, and there were cries of pain coming from every angle. The air was ripe with the stench of festering flesh and something sharper. For a moment, Millie wondered if she had arrived in hell—maybe she hadn't survived the bomb strike after all.

But then she spotted a woman in a white apron hurrying past, and she realised that this was a hospital. The cries were from the others wounded in the bombings, and the stench was the antiseptic on their wounds. She heard voices close by, beyond the curtains—her father's among them.

"Pa...pa..." Millie rasped. Her throat was dry, her voice weak.

He couldn't hear her. She could hear him, though only just.

"What can we do?" he pleaded to someone Millie couldn't see.

"She's fading fast," a stranger's voice replied, low and serious—a doctor, perhaps. "None of our treatments are working, but..."

Millie wondered if they were talking about her. She could see them past the divider, just shadows against the white curtain.

"What is it? An infection? Some kind of parasite?" her father continued.

The doctor seemed to pause and then look around before leaning close to her father. They were whispering now, and Millie couldn't hear what they were saying.

"Pa...pa..." She tried again, but it was no use. Her voice was too weak. Tears rolled down her temples, stinging as they soaked through the gauze at the side of her face.

She wished someone, anyone, was there with her. She needed someone at her side to help her through this pain.

"It's okay Millie," came a soft, sweet voice. "I'm here."

It took all her effort, but Millie turned her aching head.

It was Olivia, her sister. She was as pretty as ever, her dark curls in twists that framed her heart-shaped face. Her smile was soft, her brown eyes tender.

"I'm right here, Millie," she said.

"Liv," Millie gasped. "Oh Liv, you're okay. They said—"

"I'm right here," her sister said again.

She reached over and took her hand, intertwining their fingers. Millie tightened her grip on her, as much as she could. The tears were flowing faster. She was so relieved to see her sister.

"D-Don't," she croaked. "Don't leave me."

Olivia's smile spread to show her pearly teeth. "I'll never leave you."

Millie awoke with a jolt. It had been a dream. The warm comfort of seeing her sister flitted away, but the smell of rot lingered in her nostrils. Her stomach turned, and she flexed her fingers as if she might still feel her sister's hand, but it was cold and empty.

With a sigh, Millie shifted in bed, trying to settle. She wished her brain wouldn't insist on rehashing her worst moments when she needed to rest. She squeezed her eyes shut, and let the quiet sounds of the house lull her into sleep...

Creak...

Her eyes snapped open.

Wickford Hall was old, so hearing creaking and groaning was not uncommon. But this creak had been... different. Louder. Deliberate. The weight of a body, inching closer.

There was someone there, she was sure of it.

A chill crawled up Millie's neck. She could feel a presence, hovering just behind her. She could hear it breathing—

A hand fell on her shoulder. Millie opened her mouth to scream, but another hand reached out and clamped it shut.

"Shh!" Petra hissed in the darkness. "It's just me!"

Millie pried Petra's hand off her mouth and scrambled up her bed to get away from her.

"​​What on God's green Earth are you doing? You scared me half to death!"

"I was only trying to wake you." Petra was hard to see in the darkness, but she at least sounded apologetic.

"You can't do that," Millie snapped, truly irritated with her roommate for the first time.

"Why not?"

Millie bristled. Her muscles were tensed, her shoulders at her ears. She didn't want to get into it. "You just can't."

"Alright, I'm sorry. I won't do it again. But since you're already up..."

Millie still couldn't see Petra, but she could hear her smile in her voice.

"What do you want?" Millie said with a huff but stopped herself. Annoyed or not, she shouldn't take it out on Petra. It wasn't her fault that Millie was so jumpy. She had no idea.

Millie shook it off. "Have the Germans landed or something?" she joked weakly.

"Not quite." Petra stifled a giggle. She flicked on a small torch, holding it under her chin to cast her narrow features in ghastly shadow. "I figured we could continue our tour."

Millie glanced at the window, where outside it was still perfect, velvet darkness.

"Now?"

"Yes, now."

"It's night."

Petra rolled her eyes. "Excellent observation!"

"No one is allowed out at night," Millie said, frowning. "The nuns forbid it."

"All the better. The school will be ours." Petra grinned then, which made her look downright devilish in the torch's light.

Millie hesitated. She didn't want to upset Petra by turning down her plan, but the idea of sneaking around at night set her teeth on edge. If she thought the nuns were strict during the day, she didn't want to think about how they'd act if they were caught out at night...

"Come on," Petra pleaded, turning the torch on Millie. "Haven't you ever wanted to explore this place?"

"I already showed you around," Millie grumbled, putting her hand to block the blinding beam. She turned her gaze down and began to fiddle with the sleeve of her nightdress.

Petra wasn't ready to give up. "Sure you did, but we never strayed from the safe little path. I want to go beyond. This house is huge. It must have secrets."

Millie pressed her lips together. She wished she could say no. She wished she knew the right thing to say, the exact words that would convince Petra to give up her plan.

But she didn't.

"Please? Pleeeease? I can't go by myself," Petra continued, begging now. Then her voice dropped low, and she returned the torch to her chin, and her eyes went so wide they looked unnatural. "What if the Earl gets me?"

Millie let out a scoff. "You said that was a story."

"What if I was wrong?" Petra said, playing up her horror. "Could you really live with yourself if you let your dear friend be murdered by a ghost?"

Millie went still. She was still unsure, but Petra had called herself her 'friend.' Was she really her friend? They had only known each other for a few days, but Petra had folded so easily into her life, it felt like they had known each other for much longer. And she was willing to do anything—well, almost anything—to stay in Petra's good graces.

Was a 'friend' worth the risk?

"Alright, fine," Millie conceded with a sigh. "We can go."

Petra let out a victorious squeal and hopped off Millie's bed.