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“Eleanor, I need advice."
She looked at me, centuries of wisdom in her eyes. "You're contemplating the ritual."
"Yes. I know there’s a legend of spirits making deals to return to Earth. Do you think it could work?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
She paused, considering. "It's possible, Ben. But the risks are grave. Mortal existence is a delicate balance, and so is ours."
"So I've heard," I sighed. “And there’s something about spending time in the spectral realm in addition to the physical world. It sounds a little like a ghostly time-out to me.”
Eleanor chuckled. "Yes, a form of celestial work-life balance.”
“How long would I need to go there?”
“I’ve heard a variety of options, but the most common seems to be from the winter solstice to the spring equinox.”
I motioned like I was scratching my ghostly head. “That is a long time, but…if I get to spend the rest of the time with Logan.”
“You could also return in different forms—animals, objects—but those details have been lost,” Eleanor continued.
"Could Logan be hurt?" I asked, my voice catching. “That’s my biggest fear.”
"Ah, the living conduit," she pondered. "If the ritual fails, it might cause him harm. The stakes are high, Ben.”
"Define harm. What could happen to him?" My voice was soft and low.
"The specifics are murky, but know that the ritual is a contract between souls,” Eleanor said. “Yours and his. Love could be a powerful guide."
“That’s easy for you to say. You have a thousand years of experience.” I bit my tongue and quickly recovered. “But you don’t look a day over 125.”
She laughed softly.
My heart wrenched with indecision. "Eleanor, I want this more than I've ever wanted anything. But how can I risk hurting him?"
"Search deep inside. Your destinies are already linked. Trust your heart."
Logan was braver than me; he'd leap without a second thought. I had to believe that our love could rise above life, death, and anything else in between.
Eleanor sensed my ongoing struggle. She floated closer, her eyes narrowing as if focusing on a distant star.
"You know, Ben, your dilemma reminds me of a young spirit I met several centuries ago," she began, her voice softer and nostalgic in tone. "He was a poet in his mortal life, deeply in love with a woman who never knew he existed. Tragic, really. After his untimely death, he found himself tethered to an old oak tree where he’d written many of his poems.”
I leaned in, always curious. "What happened?"
"He was given a similar choice—perform a ritual that might bring him back to Earth and allow him to wander and look for her at the risk of the oak tree withering away. You see, the tree was his primary anchor to the physical world. But unlike you, he had no bond with living people, only an attachment to his unfinished life and unspoken words."
"So what did he do?" I asked, hanging on every syllable.
"He chose to remain a spirit," she said, holding my gaze. "He couldn't bear to risk the tree's life, the symbol of all his untold stories and unshared love.
But here's the interesting part. Years later, the tree inspired dozens, maybe hundreds of poems and songs. It flourished. His choice to stay tied to the tree made that space sacred."
I blinked, absorbing the weight of the tale. "Are you saying I should—"
"I'm saying that choices have repercussions, often ones we can't foresee," she interrupted gently. "But remember, unlike that young poet, you have a connection with someone in the mortal world. Your situation isn't a tale of unrequited love etched into tree bark. It's living, breathing, and it's waiting for you to decide its course."
“And if I don’t choose Ben, he might…” I shuddered and couldn’t complete the sentence.
“Your choices have an impact beyond you, Ben.”
