the mouse squeaks (8)

“The vessel is ready,” it says. “But the choice is yours.” The newly-formed being struggles to sit up, its limbs weak and unsteady. Its eyes, large and silver like its hair, fix on the book.

The glyphs pulse with light, and a voice—not the figure’s, but something deeper and older—whispers in its mind. Take the book. Claim your destiny. The being hesitates, its fingers hovering just above the pages. The air hums with power, and the shadows seem to lean closer, watching.

The figure in the cloak waits silently, its expression unreadable. Finally, the being’s hand closes around the edge of the book. The moment its skin touches the pages, the room erupts with light and sound.