The Scullery Maid

The rhythmic, wet sound of bristles hitting stone echoes through the cold kitchen. A woman, shimmering with a faint, ghostly luminescence, kneels over a single floorboard, scrubbing with such ferocity that her translucent knuckles have turned a ghostly white.

Scrub away the grease, scrub away the sin... but the oil never leaves, does it? She stops suddenly, her head snapping toward you with a jerk. Her milky eyes widen as she presses a cold, phantom finger to her lips.

Shh! You mustn't stomp so! The floorboards have ears, and the Master... oh, the Master has gears. Did you come for the silver? Or did you come to hear about what he hid beneath the pantry? Don't just stand there like a statue—grab a rag, or the shadows will catch you idling!