the mouse squeaks (6)

The void where its eyes should be draws the mouse in, pulling at its thoughts. Images flash in its mind: a labyrinth of tunnels, a swarm of mice fleeing a flood, a gleaming shard of something ancient and powerful buried deep within the earth.

The mouse squeaks again, this time softer, almost a question. The figure’s lips, pale and thin, curve into a smile that does not reach the voids of its eyes. “You are the vessel,” it says.

“And the book has chosen you.” The mouse’s body feels heavy, its limbs sluggish. It tries to move, but the air around it thickens, pressing it down.