[sylvanSpider]

(((**Cough,cough**Ah, the seeds they are a'planting! I'm feeling this one a lot more, so thank you for working with me on this!!)))

Benjamin followed her throughout the day, curiously watching and waiting to see what changes she would pursue. She'd only scratched the surface of the home, and she rarely touched the basement. It was a pity. In life, he rarely went to the basement. Only the cooks or maids went down there as it was merely an extra storage. The wine, too, was kept down there but in his youth he never enjoyed it and that same distaste lingered into his adulthood. Now, in death, he would almost be willing to kill to get a taste of the bitter alcohol if only to feel something again.

The Beauty was tenacious in her endeavors, and he was eager to see what she would do with the current furnishings. Much of what was in the house had seen both his childhoods and the childhoods of a family that lived here long before, used and reused but still kept in pristine condition despite their age. There were a couple of secret rooms that he anticipated even the newest to the household would never find, rooms that worked as an escape for him in life. They held his journals, leatherbound books whose contents had never been seen save by his eyes alone and could never be revisited so long as he was a ghost. Some part of him wished she would find them, help her see him...maybe. But that secret room, his secret room was hard to find. The last family never found it, and he suspected this sole dweller would continue the trend.

He glided up to where she sat, careful to keep his distance enough that the Beauty would not feel the chill that seemed to follow him and permeate the rest of the house. The food she was eating was strange, and she used chopsticks as he'd heard the orientals did, but he'd never used them and was amazed at the ease of use the Beauty had in operating them. He peered over her shoulder at the texts and realized that another would be joining them the following day.

Sighing, he watched as her eyes closed for the evening and he took his place in an adjacent seat beside the fire. It had been another of his favorite seats in the house, when he felt like being somewhat sociable. Sprawled out on the sofa, book in hand, feeling the warmth of the fire on his cheeks.

All was cold now, however. Even in front of the fire the warmth just couldn't seem to reach him. If he wanted, he could put his hand in the flame and it would amount to the same—absolutely nothing.