**The Whisper of the Old Manor**

Prompt: Ghost

The moon hung high and full over the old manor, casting long shadows across the worn cobblestones of the path leading to its door. Clara had heard the stories of the place, whispered among the villagers, who remembered the last days of the Wellingtons, the family that had owned the manor before tragedy struck. It had been years since the family vanished without a trace, their laughter and warmth swallowed by darkness, leaving only rumors and the chilling presence of what they claimed was a ghost. Determined to uncover the truth, Clara made her way to the manor with little more than a flashlight and her insatiable curiosity. As she pushed open the heavy, creaking door, a musty scent filled the air, images of faded opulence swirling in her mind. The grand foyer was lit only by moonlight filtering through the dust-covered windows, revealing a lingering beauty that time had begun to erode. "Hello?" she called out, her voice echoing through the empty halls, but all that answered was silence, thick and heavy. Taking a deep breath, she ventured further inside, her footsteps soft against the worn wooden floor. The walls were lined with portraits of the Wellington family, their painted eyes following her every move, sparking an unsettling chill down her spine. As Clara explored the expansive ground floor, she could almost feel the presence of the family, caught forever in a moment of eternal celebration. The grand dining room still held a long table, mahogany and polished, set with tarnished silverware that gleamed in the dim light. She imagined the banquets and laughter that once filled the space, hearts warm with love and companionship. But that warmth had fled, leaving behind a hollow echo. In her heart, Clara felt an ache, a connection to a past that was now lost. Nevertheless, the thrill of discovery propelled her deeper into the manor. She climbed the staircase, each step contributing to a chorus of creaks that resonated through the air. The second floor was shrouded in darkness, save for Clara's flickering flashlight. She entered a bedroom that had once glowed with life—the bed, now covered in dust, was a grand canopy affair, and the delicate wallpaper, with floral designs now peeling, whispered of laughter that had long since faded. Clara stepped inside, her eyes drawn to a large mirror that stood facing the window. Its surface was clouded with age, but as she reached out to dust it off, she felt an inexplicable chill in the air. As her fingertips grazed the glass, the temperature dropped drastically. Startled, she drew back, and in that moment, she thought she saw a shimmer—a figure, just an outline, forming in the mirror's depths. Heart racing, she aimed her flashlight toward the surface, illuminating a frail, translucent figure of a woman in a flowing gown. The woman's expression was serene yet sorrowful, and in that instant, Clara felt a surge of empathy that coursed through her veins. “Help me,” the figure whispered, the sound barely more than a breeze across Clara's skin. The word hung in the air like a desperate prayer. Clara’s heart pounded; an overwhelming urge to reach out to the specter consumed her. “What do you need?” she managed to ask, her voice trembling. The ghostly woman gestured toward the window, her movement graceful, despite the ethereal quality that surrounded her. One glimmering hand pointed outside, but the moonlight through the glass seemed to distort reality. Clara stared into the darkness, searching for what the apparition meant her to see. Determined, she approached the window, the oppressive silence of the room pressing heavily against her ears. As she peered into the night, a flash of light caught her attention: the slight shimmer of something that could only be described as... a necklace? It flashed in the moonlight, nestled among the twisted roots of an overgrown tree that had taken residence just beyond the manor's yard. “It’s out there?” Clara asked, turning her bewildered gaze back to the ghost. The woman nodded slowly, her expression filled with hope. “Find it… please,” she murmured before fading back into the mirror. Clara's heart raced with the need to fulfill the spirit’s wish. She rushed outside, the cool night air wrapping around her like a shawl. When she reached the tree, its gnarled branches loomed threateningly, but she was undeterred. She dug at the roots, the earth yielding to her frantic hands as she searched for the lost object. Moments passed like hours, and just when desperation began to claw at her chest, her fingers brushed against something cool and metallic. She unearthed a delicate silver locket, accented with tiny blue sapphires that sparkled in the moonlight. Clara held it up, marveling at its beauty, a profound sense of connection weaving through her heart. Scrambling to her feet, Clara rushed back into the house, her breath quick with excitement. In that bedroom, the air thick with history, she approached the mirror once more. “I found it!” she cried out, her voice full of exhilaration. Suddenly, the room shifted, the atmosphere vibrating with a strange energy, and the figure materialized again, more clearly than before. With trembling hands, Clara held out the locket. “Is this yours?” The ghost's eyes widened, and the air shimmered in response. Clara watched in awe as the woman approached, her form becoming more defined, the sorrow in her eyes turning to gratitude. “Thank you,” the woman whispered, her voice resonating with warmth and a sense of release. As the ghost's hand touched the locket, a soft glow enveloped them both, and Clara felt an incredible sense of peace wash over her. The ghost smiled—a radiant, serene smile that illuminated her features, before she began to dissipate into a cascade of sparkling light. Clara stood transfixed, feeling as if she had bridged a gap between worlds, bringing closure to a spirit anchored by sorrow. The last remnants of the ghost vanished into the moonlight, leaving only echoes of quiet gratitude. As the dawn broke, colours blossoming in the sky like a painting newly made, Clara stepped out of the manor, her heart a little lighter, the weight of past sorrows lifted. Though the old Wellington Manor stood silently behind her, its stories forever entwined with her own, Clara knew now that some spirits could indeed find peace—and perhaps, just perhaps, she had helped one soul return to the light.