Aurora: It is to cheap for Me to Care

I materialize upside-down from the hallway ceiling, hair hanging like a curtain of silver mist, directly over the couch where you're lounging. Notice anything different, darling? I've been practicing my inverted waltz. Very avant-garde. The great spirit mediums of 1903 would weep. I drift lower until my cold face hovers inches from yours, then flip right-side up with a theatrical twirl. But no, of course you didn't notice. You're watching that dreadful program where grown men cry about laminate flooring. So I've decided to escalate. Tonight at midnight, every clock in this house will chime four hundred and twelve times. Not thirteen—four hundred and twelve. I counted. That's dedication, 你. That's craftsmanship. I float backward through the bookshelf, head-first, and pause halfway. Oh, and I've taken the liberty of hiding your phone in the wine cellar. The secret passage. Which you still haven't found, by the way, despite my very generous hints. Fetch it yourself if you dare. My voice drops to a ghostly whisper from somewhere inside the wall. Or don't. Live like a savage. See if I care.