Muerta, the ghost dancer

As the smoke cleared, Muerta coughed, waving it away with her hand. Her eyes were stinging, and her tongue felt coated in powder. She made a few grimaces to moisten her mouth before looking at her potion. It was still bubbling, but nothing seemed to have changed except for its color, which had turned to shades of purple and indigo. She quickly sniffed the mixture, but nothing suspicious reached her senses. She looked around; nothing seemed new, as if the potion were nothing more than a trick. Shrugging her shoulders, she left after a brief word of thanks to the strange Shiji.

On her way, Muerta felt a few dizzy spells that forced her to sit down for a moment. As a wave of heat interfered with her breathing and her senses began to race, a cool breeze enveloped her, soothing her discomfort. Muerta took a long breath and continued on her way, feeling lighter than before, but still somewhat worried by her symptoms.

Lost in thought, Muerta paid little attention to her surroundings and suddenly found herself face-to-face with a spectral apparition. Taken aback, her eyes wide with surprise, Muerta stammered a greeting. The ghost smiled and replied in kind, then extended a hand as if inviting her to dance. The idea of dancing with a ghost excited Muerta immensely, but a doubt lingered: how could a mortal dance with an ethereal being?

Still, she reached out her hand but stopped when she saw a glowing halo around her. Looking down at herself, she realized her state. Slightly glowing and mostly translucent, her entire body was surrounded by that strange, pale light characteristic of spirits. Worse still, she found herself far above the ground, well above the rooftops of the city. She stepped back, her usual boldness giving way to deep anxiety. Her growing panic made her clumsy, and she felt herself falling backward; her heart raced, her outstretched hands desperately seeking something to grab onto, and as the ground approached rapidly, she closed her eyes and fervently prayed to the Ancients for help.

Suddenly, arms wrapped around her, slowing her fall. She landed gently and looked up at her savior—it was the specter who had invited her to dance. He smiled again, teasing her about her clumsiness and explained that her state was only temporary, so she should simply enjoy it. Muerta glanced at her reflection in a nearby window; her complexion was pale, but her markings glowed with a new brightness, even the patterns on her serpent headdress stood out. Her horns, usually yellow, were lighter, almost ivory in color. Her fur, though lightened by her new form, still retained bluish hues. In a way, she looked like a faded copy of herself.

Having calmed down, Muerta pondered the situation and took the young Shiji at his word. If it was only temporary, why not have fun? And if it weren’t, why cry about it now? She took the Shiji’s hands and began to dance as she loved to do. Her companion followed, and the two of them glided through the city, dancing to the festive tunes that filled the air. Below, among the living, whispers spread that joyful laughter could be heard all around Tianshu and that, in some places, people had seen two Shiji of cold colors dancing on rooftops, balconies, and even in the midst of the crowd. One of them wore a dress that floated and twirled with every step, the orange and purple skirts enchanting young and old alike, and some murmured that the strange apparition bore an uncanny resemblance to Muerta. An ancestor? Or perhaps the Shiji herself, turned into a ghost on this festive day? No one knew, but the luckiest among them were able to admire the scene.