My breath caught in my throat. "FUCK" I cursed crudely.
These things... all of them sitting here. Laughing and sharing, and talking.
These bastards were...
Feeding?!
They weren't feeding on anger or pain as i have come to know of souls.
These particular bunch, were feeding on attachment.
On the weight emotions give to memory.
On the meaning behind names.
I dropped the bottle. It struck the ground without breaking. The souls didn't move. They only watched me with that same patient warmth, as though waiting for a child to calm down from a harmless fright.
"You're shaking," one observed kindly.
My wife's face wavered again.
That was enough.
I snatched up the bottle and slammed it against the stone beside us. This time it cracked, a thin fracture running through the crystal, and something pale and mist-like leaked from it before dissolving into the air.
Their smiles faded.
Not into anger.
Into disappointment.
