He was laying in bed, in tears over what happened that night. It was at least 3 in the morning, and he was up, crying over not being 'formal' enough at a party. He got an earful the carriage ride home that's for sure.
It appeared a little boy, around the age of Jérôme, came into his room, opening and closing the door as quietly as possible, as to not to be heard by anyone, at least nobody else. He went over to the side of the bed, patting him.
The voice called out. Jérôme screamed, backing himself into his headrest.
WHO ARE YOU? WHAT DO YOU WANT?
The boy stepped back, in nothing but the few underclothes that his situation left him with. He had long curly black hair, with ice blue eyes.
" Don't scream! You are gonna get in trouble again! "
He jumped on the bed with him.
" Names Philippe! I'm here to help you— only if you want help. I died here in the French Revolution... after my father was killed, I died alone. Now I spend my time helping people! You look like you need help. "
Jérôme quieted down a little bit. He felt comforted, even if the thing that was talking to him was... dead.
I trust you... I'm sorry for screaming. I've had a really long day...
The boy chuckled. He knew the ins and outs of the formal, as he was there. Philippe was surely going to make sure everyone else reaped what they sowed.
" I get it. We can play all day if you want! And I can help you get something out of the people who make you cry... I can't stand it! We are gonna do something about it, me and you. Consider it a partnership! Friendship! "
That sounds good! What are we going to do first?
" Tomorrow you have school, right? With the Monsieur that always hits your hands with his ruler when you get the questions wrong? "
He started to whisper the plan.
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