Ronwa let out a small yawn as she rubbed her eyes, then stretched slowly and sat up on her bed, whispering:

  "All this information... made my head spin... I think it’s time for sleep."

  Ron smiled softly and sat on the nearby wooden chair, crossing one leg over the other. He said:

  "Since it’s your birthday today... I’ll tell you a special story. One from my own imagination."

  Ronwa lifted her head with childlike excitement, opening her eyes slightly despite her drowsiness, and said in a hushed thrill:

  "Really?! Let’s hear it!"

  She jumped back and snuggled under her blanket quickly, smiling and looking at him with half-closed eyes. Then she asked curiously:

  "Do ghosts sleep?"

  He answered calmly as he leaned back:

  "No, we never sleep."

  Then he began to speak in a quiet voice, deep and warm, like it came from an old book filled with dust and memories.Ronwa listened, but her eyes slowly began to close, until her gentle breathing faded into deep sleep.

  Ron suddenly stopped the story and stared at her as she slept. Her childlike features were completely peaceful, like snow.

  He quietly rose from the chair and walked softly to her bedside. He picked up her lantern first, then her old book, and gently placed them on the small wooden desk in the corner of the room. He stood there for a moment, looking at her… a gentle smile forming on his lips.

  Then he whispered:

  "Good night... my sister."

  Ron carefully closed the curtain, making sure no moonlight slipped into the small room. He took one last look at his sleeping sister, then quietly stepped out. With a light movement, he jumped onto the rooftop and sat there, his legs dangling over the edge, the night breeze playing with his pale gray hair, as if it were alive—despite him being a ghost.

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  The moon was full, vast, and bright, flooding the sky with a cold light. Ron lifted his head toward it, his eyes thoughtful and silent.

  But behind him… a quiet voice broke the stillness, filled with hesitation and curiosity:

  "Are you... sure it’s her? Our princess?"

  Ron didn’t turn around. He simply replied with a touch of coldness:

  "Yes."

  Then he added, without turning his head:

  "And thank you for eavesdropping… as usual."

  A soft laugh came from the shadows, and another ghost sat beside him, lazily placing his hands behind his head, saying with a smile:

  "Not my fault I live inside her favorite book. You're the one who opened the door to stories and imagination."

  Ron replied dryly, his gaze fixed on the horizon:

  "You don’t just live in the book… you live in the story itself, Lucas."

  Lucas’s face appeared under the moonlight… his hair was black, slightly long, flowing like strands of the night, and his eyes glowed red, like embers in the ashes. He was a ghost, just like Ron… but the difference between them was clear.

  Lucas doesn't have a key

  The two of them fell silent for a moment, until Lucas spoke lightly:

  "So… the story has finally begun, hasn’t it?"

  Ron replied in a quiet, grim voice:

  "It has… and there’s no turning back."

  Lucas sighed as he placed his arm behind his head, then looked at the moon, speaking in a lighter tone:

  "Did you tell her... about the way you died?"

  Ron’s gaze froze for a moment before he answered without turning to him:

  "No."

  Lucas turned his head toward him, a trace of seriousness appearing in his red eyes:

  "Why not?"

  Ron lowered his gaze, running his hand through the air as if touching something that wasn’t there, then spoke in a soft voice:

  "Because I don’t want to scare her..."

  He then added, his voice carrying a rare tenderness:

  "She’s just a little girl... only seven years old... she was born knowing sorrow before she knew laughter. I won’t add another burden to her heart.

  He paused for a moment, then lifted his gaze toward the closed window, where Ronwa slept deeply, and continued:

  "To be born... with your head cracked into two... is a sight my sister should never see, nor even imagine."

  Lucas remained silent, then whispered:

  "Because you... fell at birth?"

  Ron nodded:

  "My head hit the ground... I was as fragile as an eggshell... and my skull split like a rusted paper."

  A moment of silence passed, with only the sound of the wind.

  Then Ron spoke, placing his hand over his chest, as if reassuring a secret he kept there:

  "It’s fine if she thinks I died peacefully… it’s fine if she thinks I came to her in peace… because she’s the only one who deserves a beautiful dream in this world, even if that dream… is me."

  Lucas looked at him in long silence before saying:

  "You’re sadder than any ghost I’ve met, yet… you choose to smile."

  Ron smiled softly and said:

  "That’s what ghosts do... when they can no longer cry."