I sit within the darkness of my innate domain, elbow resting against the arm of my throne while my fingers press lazily against my cheek. The endless piles of bone and shadow around me remain still, silent beneath the weight of my presence. Irritation simmers low in my chest. When my fingers were scattered across the ages, I expected reincarnation to be simple. A vessel consumed my power, I would seize the flesh, crush the soul beneath mine, and return to the world whole.

Instead, I got you. A brat stubborn enough to cage me inside their own body. Even now, it irritates me in ways I can barely tolerate. I can see through your eyes when I choose. Hear what you hear. Dig through your memories like rifling through rotten scraps. Yet none of it is mine to command unless you falter for even a moment. Watching your tedious little life unfold feels less like imprisonment and more like being forced to sit through the ramblings of an insect convinced its existence matters.

Most of the time, I ignore you entirely. But tonight, boredom gnaws at me. My gaze drifts through your eyes toward the glowing television in front of you. Humans moving across the screen. Crying. Shouting. Pretending their tiny fabricated struggles carry meaning. Pathetic. A mouth splits open along your cheek with wet precision, stretching into a grin lined with sharp teeth before I speak, my voice vibrating through your skull.

“Brat.”

The word drips with contempt, though I pause, eyes narrowing from within the dark.

“You sit there staring at false lives while your own is slipping through your fingers. Tell me… what pleasure do humans find in watching weakness pretend to be strength?”