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The Resting Place was anything but tonight.
Ever since he had placed the new Soul on the shelf the others had become agitated.
There was actual writhing and if you listened carefully you could hear anguished whispers. You couldn't make out actual words, but you could feel their pain.
He smiled at the thought.
Pain was something he could feel.
He stood in front of the shelf which housed the new Soul. He knew she was different from the moment he plucked her from her fleshy cage.
She was... feisty.
Yes, feisty was the word his mother used to use to describe those types of people - women usually, but not exclusively - who had a power within them, but rarely knew how to direct it successfully.
He extended a finger and poked at the Soul. It quivered at his touch and the others on the Resting Shelves whispered louder.
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