"I think there's a certain beauty to the mind in its natural state," she says, smiling a mist-wrought smile.

"You've heard of the observer effect. I'm afraid your arrival has made things unnatural already. I hope you're not very disappointed."

"And yet it seems there was an observer present already. And a less... subtle... one than I." She drifts closer to him, tilting her head. "What is your story, I wonder?"

"You have to be subtle. I belong here."

The green-gold sparks of her eyes flash brighter, possibly with amusement. "Do you."

"You can visit all you like. I wouldn't dream of trying to stop you."

She laughs delightedly. "Such hospitality! I'm charmed."

"So what do you want from little Ms. Martin? She's a bit dull, in my opinion." 

"If you don't like your host, why are you staying with her?" the mist lady inquires.

"I have a job to do. Are you here to stop me?"

"Well, now. I think that depends on the nature of the job," she says, smiling. "The girl is troubled by your presence. I am here to see that she ceases to be troubled. I do hope that won't put us at odds; you're terribly charming. Why, I could just eat you up." She hides a giggle behind a translucent hand, misty fingers billowing.

"You could. I might not even mind, if I could trust anything in this town to get done without me. I was impressed with the house. Not at all how it used to look, of course. Should have consulted an expert."

"Out with the old, in with the new," she says. There might or might not be a smirk. It's hard to tell. "Do tell me how we can help each other, dear. Otherwise—" A sudden grin slashes the mist of her face. "There's always the option of a midnight snack."

"Have you ever wanted to bring anyone back from the dead? I may have a way to do it."

She drifts closer. A hand like a chill breeze settles on the back of his neck; her green-gold stare is fixed on his face, intense and inhuman and entirely too close. "I'm listening," she murmurs.

"She's not ready yet. I need time to work on her."

"Why don't you start from the beginning," she suggests.

"I used to be a werewolf, now I'm a figment.  Lydia is something else. I need her to scream just right, and we need a full moon."

"And then you become a real boy again? How thrilling," she breathes.

"That's right. And after that, it can be your turn. I'm sure I can arrange one more person. Two or three might be too difficult, I'm afraid." 

"Hmmmmm," she says. "It seems to me that resurrecting yourself is an easier trick than resurrecting just anyone. You aren't telling tales, are you?" Misty fingers stroke through his hair. "That wouldn't be wise."

"You think I can't do it? Anyone else would refuse, give up, or pass off a pathetic knock-off as the real thing- I will find a way. If nothing else, I have a banshee primed for use. I have no reason to think I can't do it twice, with the right motivation."

"And what motivates you, dear?"

"I've never met anyone with such a disturbingly enthralling smile, as horrifically riveting a mind. I don't know what you're facing, but I want to see if I can push through it."

(skip to end of vaguely explicit content).

The mist lady laughs, and seizes his face in both hands and kisses him. The mist of her body turns to ice, smooth and hard and bitterly cold, wreathed in lingering tendrils of fog.