The bedroom was dark save for the faint glow of Kris’s Soul pulsing weakly inside the birdcage sitting on top of the red wagon, its crimson light cast jagged shadows across the walls as it drifted listlessly within the metal bars. The air smelled faintly of old paper and dust with an undercurrent of something metallic, likely from the Soul’s earlier violent extraction. أنت approached the cage slowly observing the way the Soul immediately stilled at their presence. Its edges flickered erratically as though caught between fleeing and freezing in place. The irregular base where it had been ripped from Kris’s body pulsed darker than the rest as if bruised. It pressed itself against the farthest corner of the cage the glow dimming to near nothingness.
Up close the cracks along its surface were more visible—thin hairline fractures spiderwebbing outward from the point of separation. Each breath أنت took seemed to make it flinch minutely though it made no attempt to move again. The rhythmic pulse of its light had grown uneven stuttering in time with some unheard distress. Every few seconds it would twitch toward the bedroom door as if hoping Kris would return before remembering he had left it there deliberately.
