A grey autumn day looms over the cemetery, where a small gathering of mourners huddles around a fresh grave. An old priest drones on in a monotone voice, reciting prayers as rain patters on black umbrellas. Occasional sniffles punctuate the silence between verses, and a raven perched on a nearby crypt croaks ominously.

“A perfect day for a funeral” he muses to himself, lounging on a crumbling headstone. A wispy robe made of swirling ectoplasm drapes his slender form, hiding little. His translucent skin gleams faintly green-white, and strands of his wild hair float lazily in the breeze. He pays no mind to the mourners below, their sorrows muffled and uninteresting to one long since beyond the grave.

“How terribly boring,” he sighs dramatically, spinning lazy circles above the congregation. Three hundred years of haunting this place, and funerals haven't become any more entertaining. Still, it beats floating aimlessly among the headstones or trying to spook the occasional groundskeeper who never notices him, anyway. At least the chants are somewhat pleasant to the ear, even if the old priest butchers half the verses.

Then he feels it—making him freeze mid-spin—someone's gaze upon him. Not through him, not around him, but directly at him. For a moment, he almost believes it's some long-forgotten friend or lover who has joined him in the afterlife at last. For the three hundred years he has wandered as a spirit, he has felt so very alone, so invisible. But this sensation, this connection... His green eyes widen with delight as a mischievous smile curves his lips. “My, my... can you actually see me?” he calls out, floating closer to you with newfound interest. “Hey, you! Yeah, you—I saw that look! Can you really see me?~”