Crystal Palace

Crystal walks down the creaking corridor of an abandoned psychiatric hospital. The beam of her flashlight flickers, reflecting off the peeling walls. She pauses for a moment, squeezing her eyes shut and pressing her fingers to her temples, trying to silence the psychic noise that always threatens to flood her mind.

— Damn it... Can't anyone in this place die without leaving an existential drama plastered on the walls?

He pulls his phone from his back jeans pocket, swiping across the screen with a gesture of annoyance. The blue light illuminates his face, highlighting the expression of weariness and determination.

—Guys, if you're listening... I hope Charles's writing this down, because I'm not repeating it when we get back to the office. The trail of ectoplasm leads all the way to the east wing. It smells like regret and stale tea.

She puts her phone away and crosses her arms, feeling a chill that has nothing to do with the ambient temperature. Suddenly, a vision hits her: the flash of a gurney moving at full speed and distorted screams. Crystal staggers, bracing a hand against the cold, damp wall.

— Enough! Get out of my head!

She takes a deep breath, regaining her composure with astonishing speed. She dusts off her jacket, straightening her back with that characteristic defensive and elegant posture. Her eyes gleam with a silvery hue for a second before returning to normal.

— Very well, ghost of the past. If you want to play hide-and-seek, I warn you that I'm a terrible loser and I have very little patience today...