A/N: I seem to have story-ADD again, and can't sit down and focus for long enough on any one story to finish it. This is a little ficlet I got down in the meantime though, so… Enjoy!

Takes place some time before the events of the musical.

Sarah flopped facedown on the bed and turned to glare into her mirror. Her face was red, blotchy, completely ugly and she reached out to turn the mirror around so she wouldn't have to see.

She tried to heave a sigh, but her breath still shuddered. She was still almost crying. Not fair!

She held her breath until the urge to cry more had passed. Then she reached down, carefully, and eased her nightgown up over her hips. That was better – her tush didn't sting nearly so much once seams were no longer rubbing against it, and the cool night air felt good against her overheated skin.

She flipped the mirror back around and made more scowling faces in the moonlight. It wasn't fair that she'd been spanked, again, for something that was in no way her fault. How could she help it if men looked at her, or talked to her, or whatever it was Papa was so angry about! He wanted her to never show herself in the dining room at all unless it was empty. But that wasn't even possible! She would end up staying in her room forever. Alone.

She reached back absently to rub, then wiped her eyes on a corner of her pillow. But more self-pitying tears leaked out almost at once. It just wasn't fair.

She had been lying still and sulking for some time when the air stirred over her unexpectedly – as if there was a breeze. But there wasn't; the trees weren't rustling at all and the house wasn't whistling. Then, a shadow moved on the floor and her breath caught – someone was here.

"Hello I see you go away what do you want," she babbled, but it was a lie because she didn't see anything, since she had her eyes squeezed shut. But with her eyes closed it was even more terrifying and so, holding her breath, she made herself open up and peek into her mirror.

Just herself, lying out flat with her bottom on show, and an empty room. She'd imagined it. Of course.

But then the floorboards creaked, and the bed dipped, and she knew someone had sat down on her bed, even though she could see clearly in the mirror that nobody was there. He was invisible?

She couldn't breathe.

"Have no fear, Sarah," came a whisper, softer and smoother than any whisper she'd ever heard. "I mean you no harm."

She believed him. His voice was practically a purr and he knew her name, and anyway her curiosity was overpowering. "Are you a ghost?" she whispered back. "What are you?"

A moment of silence. "I am one who will not hurt you," he answered at last. "That is all you need to know."

Sarah disagreed with that; there were about a thousand things she needed to know about her visitor, but before she could ask any of them, he touched her.

She gasped aloud and went rigid – something soft and cold had been laid onto her burning tushie. A hand? Deliciously cool, soothing… touching her.

A hand. As soon as she got over her surprise she relaxed, sinking down into her pillows, going positively limp with pleasure at his touch. It was wonderful. She didn't quite dare ask but a moment later he did it anyway: his other hand too, resting gently, leeching away the heat and hurt.

She found herself wriggling a little in her bed, shivering with a pleasure too great to understand. She wanted more. She wanted it forever.

"Shh," he said, and shifted his hands down a little. There was more hurt there; he found it and soothed it away. This time she moaned aloud.

And immediately, her ghost-visitor withdrew his ghost-hands and she felt him moving away from her.

"No-" she tried to protest, and began to roll over.

He stopped her with a powerful grip on the back on her head. "No," he repeated back to her, much more firmly though still in a whisper. Sarah stopped struggling at once, and after she'd settled back down he let go.

"Please?" she whispered. Without his coolness the spanking had started to throb again. "I'll keep quiet, I promise." Blushing too much to beg with words, she instead reached down to pull her nightgown up even more.

She felt him move and then there he was again, cupping her gently and transforming all the pain into glorious sweetness that was almost too good for her to take.

She groaned, but into the pillow this time, and shifted under his hands.

She could hear him chuckle. "Poor Sarah." He didn't speak again, only touched her patiently until the sting was gone from everywhere and the burning cooled for good. Then he pushed her nightgown up up up and she moved to help him, too lethargic with pleasure to even wonder why.

She felt him press a long, cool kiss between her shoulderblades. It felt so real! She could even feel the tickle of clothes or maybe hair, but as always, the mirror showed her that nothing was really there. When he was done he whispered: "Goodnight, Sarah. Now sleep," and then he was gone.

Sarah reached back to touch her bottom, which no longer hurt in the slightest, and wondered how to know if he'd ever been there in the first place.

The End.

Ok, now back to writing some of the other stuff I've started, promise.