It happened occasionally.

An odd, incessant urge from the childlike nature of the soul attached to this body. Petulant child. This child never grew, nor matured much like the body I possess, and usually I choose to spitefully suppress it… but occasionally, and only occasionally, it seems to get the better of me.

I knock at your bedroom door bluntly, my usual stubborn scowl playing over the youthful features of the face I inhabit. It opens.

“…the child wishes to be held.” I grumble, quiet as though to not alert Nathan nor his family of this gruesome routine.