A/N: Hello there. For those of you who aren't familiar with me, I've been on this site for a little over ten years now, but this is the first time I've written a fanfic for this fandom. I'm a big fan of the Horrible Histories series and Yonderland series from the Six Idiots, so it's no surprise that I ended up falling in love with Ghosts since finding out about it during the Series 3 airing. I've been itching to write something for it for a while now, and after checking out the fanfic section of this site and noticing a lot of the OC stories here have been incomplete and abandoned, I finally felt compelled to actually give birth to this idea I've had. So I'll try to summarise the gist of what to expect before you dive in.

For those of you who already follow my Owl House fic, you'll find that this OC story basically follows the same format as that. While this is an OC story, said OC will be following the main cast in the canon events of the show. Dialogue and events will be altered to accommodate her and the surprises she's able to bring, of course, but expect this story to follow the main series. There won't be any romance or shipping involved with the main ghosts, however, and while I won't be updating this on a set schedule, you can check out my profile for 'active updates' to check on the next update's progress, which I have recently started to do with my currently active fanfics. I probably won't update this fanfic fairly quickly for the moment, as I want to see how well it's received first. I will say, though, that I'm aiming to summarise each episode between four chapters at least; although, this may go over depending on how things go.

And now, with that out of the way, I hope you enjoy the first chapter of this new story. The first chapter isn't very exciting, as the main focus is to introduce my OC and also establish context towards the setting and her current relationship with the characters. I have purposely emitted specific facts about her for you to try to figure out using what I have revealed which time period she's from (I'm sure you'll guess it before the next chapter. Some of the clues are very obvious. XD) and also the circumstances surrounding her death. Thought it was more interesting to keep it hidden to keep you guys hooked. XD I also did try my best to keep the characters as in character as I could (if the military jargon I looked up for the Captain is any indication), even though I'll admit, it was a challenge. This is the first time I've written a fic based on the real world, so this is a little out of my comfort zone, especially because I had only the show stills to rely on for room accurate room descriptions as there wasn't any map layout online I could find for West Horsely Place (the filming location). Either way, feedback is greatly appreciated. Hopefully in the next chapter, I'll be able to talk in more detail about some of the decisions I made in this chapter (well, if the word count is shorter).

Disclaimer: I do not own Ghosts 2019 or its characters; however, I do own any OCs used in this fanfic.

Chapter 1: The Invisible Spectator

Ghostly white fog descended upon the two storied, bricked manor house of Surrey, England and its surrounding areas during the early hours of the morning, shrouding it in mist so thick that one couldn't see their palm even if they'd held it right in front of their own face. For those who lived nearby, it was a sign of a dreary and depressing day of weather. But for the invisible inhabitants of Button House, as it was locally known, it was a warning to set the tone for what had been a long time coming.

Within the east wing of the manor house's second floor, hiding away amongst the faded red walls and the bare wooden, dead leaf strewn floor of the ballroom, a young woman was seated on one of the room's many windowsills, staring out towards the fog lurking on the other side of the glass. Her dirty-blonde hair rested in waves against the back of her long-sleeved, dark and light brown plaid buttoned shirt, which was hidden away under a woolly, white shawl with intricate patterns. She was currently alone, appearing to be basking in the company of the scattered armless wooden chairs stacked into random corners of the room, along with a tattered and rolled up rug by the white marble and unlit fireplace. She was sat with her back as straight as a pin and her front facing the window, her hands clasped together within the creases of her red and white ruffle lined, ankle-length skirt, her brown laced ankle boots flat against the wooden floor. Drooped blue eyes visible in the window's glass reflected the thousand-yard stare of the young woman's petite gaze as she fixated on the looming mist that had engulfed the Button Estate, her mind trailing elsewhere as she pondered on recent events.

From the moment she'd been startled awake by Robin's indiscernible shouting during the ungodly hours of the morning alongside her other 'housemates', she immediately sensed that something was amiss. The ill-mannered caveman was often known for causing unnecessary ruckus for one reason or another, yet this time he'd had a very good reason to do so, as she'd found out when eavesdropping on the others gathered in the common room on the first floor wishing to hear Robin out. It had been difficult for her to decipher at first due to Robin's limited vocabulary and use of the English language, but somehow the others had managed to translate his excited and rushed rambles in relation to the house's currently only living occupant, which she'd come to understand had something to do with a change in the woman's breathing. She struggled to hear the rest once the group began talking over each other, all nine of them eagerly throwing around shocked and intrigued exclamations over the news, with a few disbelieved ones here and there. But it didn't take long before Robin regained order by insisting (in his own words, of course) they follow him to the owner's bed chambers, with the group soon hurrying off towards the west wing of the house by phasing through the wall on the opposite side of the common room. She hadn't bothered to follow them after that, instead choosing to retreat to the ballroom until she was sure it was over.

And so, here she was, toiling her time away within the confines of her head, pondering on current events alone on the abandoned second floor of the manor house.

'I cannot blame them for treating this as some 'mystical spectacle',' the woman mused in a voice containing a posh accent. 'It is not a frequent occurrence on the grounds of Button House, after all. Yet I believe taking vigil at her bedside just to observe whether she stays or goes is a little disrespectful. I do not doubt there are exceptions who merely wish to see her off. But I imagine the rest are using it as temporary entertainment.'

The resounding chime of the nearby grandfather clock roused the young woman back to reality with a blink. The blonde gave her head a slight shake and released a small sigh at sighting the brightened white of the fog, raising her fingers to her fringeless forehead to their tips along her hairline and down to the thin strands hanging in front of her ears. She couldn't see the grandfather clock from where she was currently seated, but the brightened surroundings of outside were more than enough indication for her to gauge what time of the day it was.

'The mid-morn is finally upon us,' the woman mused as she stood from the windowsill, brushing her fingers against her skirt to smoothen out the creases. 'I'd best see if they are finished with their follies.'

Clasping her hands against her front, the young blonde made to depart from the ballroom with slow, echoing steps, choosing to stroll through the doorway rather than through the wall. While she could have done so as a shortcut, even she could admit that there were times where she wanted to trick herself into believing she was still alive, despite her surroundings having changed immensely from when she had been.

She ignored the occasional creaking of the hallway floorboards as she traversed the top floor of the east wing, doing well to keep her gaze forward and resisting the urge to peek into the other empty rooms she passed. There was little point, when all that remained of the once vibrantly coloured rooms was peeling wallpaper, carpet-less floors and dripping leaks galore.

'I rarely visit the second floor these days, yet I oft-forget how much the rooms have fallen into ruin. When did that start happening, I wonder…? Perhaps the year the lady of the house no longer had the strength to tow her frail body up the stairs.'

Upon reaching the landing of the second floor, she made to descend the first set of wooden stairs against the left wall without a break in her stride. However, as she reached the bottom and rounded towards the last set, she paused at hearing the cheerful female voice she knew belonged to Kitty from the common room.

"Oh! Has anyone seen Cordelia?"

The woman chose not to move from her current spot, instead listening in to the ensuing discussion while occupying her gaze on the blue wallpaper of the area in front of the stairs.

"Cordelia?" A male voice with a thick Yorkshire accent repeated the name, whom the young woman recognised to be from Pat. "Was she with us back there?"

"I don't thinks so," a female voice with a West Country accent answered, with the unnecessary plural indicating it was likely Mary. "Thoughts I seen 'er peepin' at us earlier."

"I no see Cordel," added the rough male voice of Robin, causing the young woman to briefly close her eyes and slightly shake her head.

'Of course I have once again become a subject of conversation amongst them due to my absence. God, spare me!'

"It's Cordelia, Robin," a stern male voice corrected, whom she identified as the voice of the Captain.

"That's what I said: Cordel!" Robin replied defensively, prompting the Captain to heave a heavy sigh before continuing.

"She's probably retreated to her sleeping quarters."

"Do you think we should tell her the news about Lady Heather?" Kitty asked.

"I wouldn't trouble yourself, Kitty," a posh and snobbish female voice said, which 'Cordelia' knew belonged to Fanny. "She seldom chooses to be in our company. Why must we make the effort when it's never returned?"

"Quite right, Fanny," agreed the Captain, just as Cordelia heard striding footsteps approaching the common room from the west wing. "It won't be long now until someone arrives to check up on the old girl. Cordelia will figure things out for herself."

The posh condescending male voice that followed (whom Cordelia identified as Julian) ended up addressing the newcomer, soon confirming the identity of the new arrival to the common room to be Thomas by use of a specific derogatory term.

"So, Berk, how long did it take you to realise you were performing rubbish to thin air?"

"Oh, hush, sir!" Thomas snapped, speaking in a posh accent of his own. "It was you who chose to forgo hearing art in its glorious making!"

"You keep telling yourself that, bohemian!"

Before long, the group gathered in the common room broke out into a string of incoherent conversations, once again drowning each other out by trying to talk over one another. Cordelia took this as her cue to resume her walk down the last flight of stairs, heading straight towards the blue wallpaper without so much as a peek into the common room.

'I have counted eight of the nine voices from the common room. Which means they have all departed from Lady Heather's sleeping quarters. I should be safe to pay my respects without their usual prattling.'

While it would have been quicker for her to have stridden through the common room to reach the west wing, she purposely avoided doing so for two reasons: firstly, Cordelia didn't wish for the other ghosts to start to converse with her, and secondly, she always avoided going through the common room as a matter of principle. Even now, as she prepared to phase through the wall to go back the way she'd previously come to reach these stairs, she couldn't help flinching at the faint searing pain that prickled at the middle of her upper back.

It had been over a century, yet the thought of stepping into that room again was still too raw.

One quick walk round the front of the manor house from the outside and then a small traversing through a corridor maze later, and Cordelia soon found herself entering the familiar narrow, white walled and wooden floored corridor that lay within the farthest part of the west wing's ground floor. Cordelia headed straight towards the first door to her left, which was bathed in the dim lighting emitted through the window opposite it and ajar. Despite sensing a strange heaviness in the air in the form of a tightness in her chest, she proceeded to step into the room without an ounce of hesitation, phasing through the door and coming to an immediate stop once she was on the other side.

Cordelia was met with the familiar plain white walls and ceiling of the rectangular room that she was aware in recent years had become the primary sleeping quarters for the lady of Button House, partially illuminated by the dim lighting of the lamp switched on upon the right side of the room. Due to having seen the room enough to know what it contained off by heart, though, she didn't waste her time giving her surroundings a brief glance. Instead, her gaze instantly turned to where she knew the large, single bed was beside the bedside table with the lamp atop it, aware that the person she was searching for was likely there. And sure enough, that came to be true.

Blue eyes fell upon an elderly woman with short grey hair and dressed in a pink nightgown, tucked up underneath the green bedding with her eyes closed and her hands clasped together atop her chest. At a mere glance, due in part to the dim lighting, someone unsuspecting would have been fooled into thinking she was sleeping, but the longer she stared, the more Cordelia knew that was not the case. The woman's skin had started to turn a ghostly white and Cordelia failed to hear any breathing or see signs of movement from the woman's chest.

'Alas, it would appear I was right: the fog was a sign of her inevitable parting of this realm.'

With drooped eyes, Cordelia dared to step closer to the bed, her gaze never leaving the woman's wrinkled face even as she came to a stop at her bedside. Despite the obvious signs that she was currently staring at a body that no longer had a soul residing within it, it was strange to Cordelia how serene the woman looked in her current position. She couldn't quite place why, but it reassured her to know that she'd moved on without any pain.

'We all knew this day would be inevitable. But to think you have finally left us, Lady Heather… It is a mere reminder of just how cruel the passage of time is to the living. Yet I suppose I am prejudiced as an apparition who is no longer affected by time's vices. And whose death wasn't peaceful…' Cordelia sucked in a non-existent breath through her nose and squeezed her eyes shut. 'Nevertheless, you should still be granted a moment of silence in your memory. It is only fair.'

Keeping her hands clasped together against her skirt, Cordelia stayed silent to take the time to process everything and as an act of respect for the soul that had moved on, allowing the silence of the room to linger for a while longer…

… until a familiar male voice calling out to her forced her eyes open again.

"Hello?! Is someone there?! I'm down here!"

Cordelia raised her body up on her tiptoes to peek over towards the foot of the bed, specifically within the vicinity of a thin, white bookcase that stretched towards the ceiling that was settled to the left of the pair of drawn to black curtains in front of the window. After a quick sweep, she eventually spied the short, curly brunette hair of a familiar Tudor male head with a moustache and goatee lying on its side facing away from the bed, in turn exposing the clean slice on his neck stump where he had been decapitated from his body. Biologically, he was at least ten-to-twenty years her senior.

"Dear Humphrey," Cordelia eventually addressed the head in a low and posh sounding voice as she flattened her feet and made to walk round the bed. "Why am I not surprised to know you're still here?"

"Oh, thank goodness!" Humphrey exclaimed at hearing Cordelia respond. "Am I glad to see you, Cordelia."

"I believe you are one of few who usually are." Cordelia paused just in front of Humphrey's head and gave the left side of the bedroom a quick glance, attempting to search for the fur lined, red coat, white stockings, black shoes and white ruff that consisted of Humphrey's body's usual outfit amongst the furniture that occupied Heather's room. "Have they left you behind again?"

"Them and my stupid body. God knows where that idiot's gotten to!" Humphrey took a few seconds of pause before flicking his eyes up towards the ceiling. "Um… Would you mind…?"

Cordelia focused back on Humphrey when he trailed off with his request and gave a stiff nod, already knowing what exactly he was asking for. "Not at all."

The young blonde bent down and collected Humphrey's head into her hands, quickly standing with the back of his head cradled into the crook of her arm like a baby.

"Thank you kindly," Humphrey said once his head was secure in Cordelia's hold.

"You are very welcome, as always." Cordelia partially turned to face the bed again at remembering where she and Humphrey were, her gaze trailing over the empty husk that once belonged to Heather Button. "So, Lady Heather's spirit ascended to the heavens, I take it?"

Humphrey followed Cordelia's gaze when she asked the question, a faint scowl gracing his brow. "Couldn't tell you, I'm afraid. Body dropped me before I got a good look. Judging by what Thomas said, though, she must have."

"As suspected…" Cordelia mumbled as she broke her eyes away to stare at Humphrey's head in her arms. "I heard the chatter coming from the common room as I passed by. They implied she had ascended."

"At least you didn't have to listen to 'em while they were still in here," Humphrey grumbled. "Between the Captain insisting he's taking the bedroom, Julian and Robin betting over whether she stayed and Thomas' terrible poetry monologue, I couldn't make sense of anything."

Cordelia tutted and clicked her tongue with a scowl. "How insolent. As if them treating this event as some entertaining spectacle was not already disrespectful enough."

'And that is without the knowledge of Captain Pompous now taking residence a corridor away.'

"You can't blame them," Humphrey reasoned. "I mean, it's not every day we see something like this, is it?"

"It does not excuse such ill-mannered behaviour," Cordelia responded with the slight tilt of her chin and the roll of her eyes. "And yet why am I not surprised that they are more concerned about their own needs than what will now become of Button House?"

"Oh, yeah. Lady B mentioned Heather was the last of the Button line. She had no living descendants."

Cordelia released a quiet sigh and allowed her shoulders to slouch, bringing her arms and Humphrey's head closer to her chest as she did so. "Be candid with me, Humphrey: is it silly of me to be fretting over such a trivial matter as the house's next inheritor while the rest are not?"

A momentary silence fell between the two ghosts as Humphrey appeared to be pondering over Cordelia's words, evidenced by the quiet hum he made and the momentary closing of his eyes. Eventually, after what felt like minutes, the Tudor head gave his answer with the opening of his eyes.

"I wouldn't say so. The others seem to think this place will be abandoned, but I know from experience that won't be the case…"

"And I agree. Granted, I have not been alive—or dead—for as long as you. Yet I have paid close enough attention to Lady Heather's exchanges with many visitors to know they have their eyes on this place."

"But on the other hand," Humphrey turned his gaze to stare off elsewhere, specifically towards a random wall nearby. "it's not like we can have a say in what happens anymore. So, what's the use in worrying?"

Cordelia slowly nodded to this and lowered her head, her eyes momentarily closing when she responded in a quiet voice. "Very true."

'Another thing that I and my fellow ghosts oft-forget, as much as I am loath to admit…'

"All we can do in the meantime is just wait and see what happens," Humphrey continued, turning to look up at Cordelia again with a forced smile. "Maybe things will turn around."

"Of course. Just as wise as always, Humphrey," Cordelia eventually complimented, her gaze returning to Heather's body when she opened her eyes. "But whatever the future may hold for Button House, we can at least take comfort in the knowledge that Lady Heather left this realm peacefully..."

"Oh, yes! There are worse ways to go, as we already know!"

Humphrey let out a hearty laugh at his intended joke, prompting Cordelia to peek over her right shoulder towards the far-left corner of the room. A wooden dresser with a rectangular mirror atop it stood there, its reflective surface catching Cordelia's back and exposing the dried blood stains drenching the middle of the shawl. Cordelia's lips curled the moment her blue eyes locked with the darkened stains surrounding the thin, circular tear in her shirt just about visible past the matching tear in her shawl, close to the middle of her shoulder blades.

Even after all this time, she still couldn't stand the sight of it.

She eventually made her quiet response when the silence had dragged on long enough. "Quite right…"

"… Oh, sorry," Humphrey quickly apologised at silently observing her current expression, his brow furrowing out of guilt upon realising what she was likely looking at. "Still too soon?"

Cordelia relaxed her expression and returned her gaze to Humphrey, the faintest of smiles dancing upon her lips despite its slight quiver. "It would seem so, yes. Yet I must applaud your humorous courage in these trying times, Humphrey."

Humphrey's brows raised with a wide blink. "Oh? Why's that?"

"Well, if I had had my head severed from my body, I could not see myself making light of it."

Humphrey rolled his eyes. "Oh, believe me, Cordelia, I'm surprised at myself too."

"Is that right?"

"Yes." An amused smile spread across his lips. "Not even I could have foreseen this far ahead."

For a moment, Cordelia's usually gloomy and stoic outlook broke with a small chuckle, a sight that left Humphrey blinking a couple of times to make sure he wasn't hearing and seeing things. But her temporary mirth was soon dispelled by a bright yellowish light streaming into the room within her peripheral vision, prompting Cordelia to face the slight gap in the drawn curtains with a squint.

"Oooh!" Humphrey commented, his eyes widening ever so slightly out of awe. "It's brightening up out there!"

"It seems the Queen's weather is upon us at last." Cordelia straightened out and twirled on her heels to face the doorway. "We'd best depart. Observing the living uncovering a body is surely a heart-breaking sight…"

"Especially when it's your own."

"Agreed," she replied through a sigh and headed straight for the door, not once glancing back at the bed as she went. "Where would you like me to take you, Humphrey? Do you need assistance in locating your body?"

Humphrey furrowed his brows in thought for a moment, eventually answering once he and Cordelia had phased back into the corridor outside of Heather's bedroom.

"Not a good idea. We'll be wandering the whole estate before we find 'im!"

"Should I leave you close to the common room for the rest to find you then?"

"You can just leave me in the library." Humphrey paused to yawn loudly, smacking his lips soon after. "I could use a nap."

Cordelia allowed a faint smile to slip onto her lips, yet it was soon gone as quickly as it had appeared. "Then it shall be done."

"Much appreciated, Cordelia."