I felt its long, cold fingers scratching at the back of my ears and now I see it, green and phase shifting through the spectrums. Trying on faces. Elongating certain spirit fingers and knocking with bulbous knuckles on the skull of dear old Esther as she shits her favorite chair and evacuates her corpse. The phantasm takes the wisps of her and ties them in his hair. If she hadn’t forgotten her lungs and vocal cords in her body, she might have screamed. She had always been afraid of long, greasy hair.
I would help her if I could. Unfortunately, my soul has been trapped in a crystal since I was old enough to sign parchment with my own blood.