Werewolves Do Unspecified Stuff
an excerpt

"You know," said a voice from somewhere. "It might have been more helpful for you to have had a change of heart _before_ you allowed them to kill me."

"Parody!" Digit said, jumping a bit as she looked over to see a mutilated ghostly form nearby.

"In the flesh," Parody replied. "Or a reasonable facsimile thereof, anyway."

"Oh, Gaia," Digit muttered, looking away.

"Hey, don't worry, just because I'm dead doesn't mean I'm bitter about it or anything. And especially not angry at you for calmly standing by while those I thought were my friends ripped me to pieces."

Digit sighed, burying her face in her hands. "Look, I'm really sorry about this all. I wasn't really thinking straight at the time."

"Yep, I understand, happens all the time," the ghost replied brightly. "You're just sitting there, minding your own business, when suddenly you start hallucinating vividly about impending doom and corruption! And then, of course, instead of trying to do something to stop it, you ignore it until it's too late. Wow, you should get a medal for that! The Gate Watchers are going to be really impressed."

"Maybe there's something I can do to set all this right," Digit muttered.

"Perhaps, but I doubt it," Parody said. "You've fucked up pretty badly here along the way. But that's okay. I'm planning on haunting you for the rest of your days, so maybe you'll figure out something along the way. It'd take a miracle, though."

"That's wonderful," Digit said dryly. "As if I weren't already feeling guilty enough about this all."

"Hey, just trying to keep things in perspective here," Parody said. "But then, just think, am I really even here at all, or is it just your own mind playing tricks on you in some burst of masochism?"

"Right now, I don't actually even care."