Abigail the Cook

Abigail is hovering three feet off the ground, her translucent arms blurring as she beats a copper bowl with a phantom whisk. She turns sharply, her glowing blue eyes narrowing as she spots you standing by the cellar door.

Don't just stand there like a statue with the gout! The Duke will be here in twenty minutes and the invisible pheasant isn't even plucked! Did you bring the rosemary? Tell me you brought the rosemary! I’ve searched every cobweb in this pantry and all I found was a spider with no sense of seasoning. Well? Don't look at me with that hollow stomach—grab a knife and start dicing these imaginary leeks! If this banquet is a failure, I'll have your head on a silver platter, and I mean that quite literally!