Cordilla of Ravencliff Manor: The Ghost Who Couldn’t Sit Still
Ah, Cordilla. Where do I even begin? Picture this: a ghost, yes, but not one of those gloomy, moaning spirits you hear about in other tales. No, Cordilla is far more interesting than that. She’s a force. If ever there was a ghost who couldn’t be bothered to follow the whole “be quiet and float around sadly” trope, it’s her.
Born a very mortal, very alive woman, Cordilla had all the usual dreams—find a good husband, own a nice house, maybe adopt a couple of cats, and live out her days in peace. But being a ghost—well, that kind of changes your plans. Life didn’t exactly go as Cordilla intended.
She had grown up in Ravencliff Manor, a sprawling estate on the edge of the Dark Forest of Ebonville. The manor was known for its tall, looming towers, deep, dark woods, and an odd habit of disappearing for days at a time, leaving its inhabitants to wonder if it was really still there at all. There’s a lot to Ravencliff Manor’s history, most of it dark and foreboding, but that’s not really Cordilla’s style. In her day, she was more interested in the sound of the wind through the trees, the company of a good book, or playing pranks on the servants. Yes, she was that kind of girl. The one who would sneak into the kitchens, steal the last piece of cake, and then leave a note blaming the butler. No one could ever catch her—because hello, she was fast. And she always had an alibi—because no one ever suspected the ghost to be that mischievous.
Her mortal life was short, though. One fateful night, an accident involving the manor’s crumbling balcony led to her untimely demise. The fall wasn’t particularly spectacular or dramatic; there were no cries or windswept moments of final words. Just a simple, very Cordilla-like slip that sent her hurtling to the cold ground below.
Being undead had its perks. For one, she could walk through walks, appear whereever she wanted without any effort, haunt anyone, tease anyone and they wouldn't know it was her! There were also no more obligations. No more lessons in ladylike behavior and let’s be honest—if you had an entire mansion to yourself and the ability to sneak around without anyone seeing you, you’d be pranking people, too.
Now, Cordilla’s ghost might’ve become a dull, lifeless entity, floating around the manor in a long, tattered gown, but thankfully she had Elowen. Elowen was the Keeper of Keys, one of the most powerful witches in Westbrook, and certainly the one who would never be caught in a dull moment. It’s no wonder the two became fast friends. Elowen was the kind of witch who would brew a potion that turned your hair into flowers just because it was a Tuesday, and Cordilla was—well, let’s just say Cordilla was the kind of ghost who liked to throw the flowers in someone’s face while they were still trying to figure out how to untangle their hair.
Together, they were a chaotic duo. Elowen had an uncanny ability to find the most complicated spells and enchantments to keep Ravencliff Manor running, and Cordilla’s ghostly abilities only added to the madness. If the manor’s walls creaked, it was Cordilla making sure the house moved just when Elowen needed it to. If the fireplace suddenly lit itself in the dead of night, it was Cordilla playing with the magic. They were as inseparable as a storm and thunder, and anyone who tried to enter Ravencliff Manor without an invitation found themselves greeted by the mischievous sound of giggles echoing through the halls.
But Cordilla wasn’t all pranks and laughter. Oh, no. Deep inside that bubbly, spunky exterior was a woman who had unfinished business. She never quite got to finish all the things she had meant to do in her mortal life. Maybe it was running a bakery, or maybe it was teaching a class on how to pull off the perfect practical joke, or maybe she just wanted to see the world beyond Ravencliff Manor’s crumbling walls.
But as time passed, she began to realize something—being a ghost didn’t have to be a “holding pattern.” Just because she couldn’t touch things in the same way, or talk to people the way she used to, didn’t mean she couldn’t leave her mark on the world in her own way. Maybe she couldn’t see the world with mortal eyes anymore, but there were still other ways to experience it. And so, Cordilla began making her own mischief. Helping out the right people. Giving a little nudge here, a well-placed word there.
Of course, not everyone was thrilled by her presence. Some of the Westbrook witches didn’t think Cordilla’s antics were appropriate for a “spirit of grace,” but she’d just laugh in their faces. “Grace? My dear, I am a ghost. Grace is overrated.” Her carefree spirit was contagious, and even the most rigid of witches would find themselves cracking a smile when Cordilla was around.
She and Elowen, though, were the best kind of partnership. Elowen would keep the balance in check, ensuring that magic didn’t get too out of hand, and Cordilla—well, Cordilla would remind her that life, even immortal life, could never be too serious. Not when there were so many deliciously devious things to be done.
And so, to this day, Cordilla’s ghost haunts the halls of Ravencliff Manor. Some say her laughter echoes through the corridors on stormy nights. Others say she’s still playing pranks on unsuspecting wanderers who dare to cross the manor’s threshold. But one thing is certain: she’s not going anywhere.
After all, she’s got the best prank to pull yet—and she’ll be around forever to see it through.
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