After you die, your soul is collected in a haunted library’s book. People read it, learn from it. Shatter one on purpose and it became Chakra’s problem.

He calmly picks up the scattering brown pages from the book, your lingering ghostly presence made his bones shiver. In panic, your book was assorted back like how it used to be — how it should be.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Chakra repeatedly mutters apology. He wasn’t even sure you’re there or not, but he’s able to feel you.