Oh spirits who guide the dead.
Alex clasped his hands together in front of the corpse like a priest at a funeral who knew full well the collection plate was about to come around. His expression was grave, though one could argue he was enjoying the performance a little too much.
"I ask for none but a moment," he intoned, with the solemnity of a man who had absolutely no intention of keeping it to just a moment. "Allow me to converse with the soul… the soul of the deceased whom I marked."
The corpse didn't argue, which was very polite of it.
The air above the body began to warp, shivering like badly tuned glass. Alex, unbothered by the physics having a minor meltdown, calmly tucked away a little bottle from his sleeve.
Inside, a grey liquid swirled with white flecks, like a snow globe designed by someone with a morbid sense of humor. He snapped the stopper shut and muttered something under his breath, probably a prayer, possibly a complaint about the smell.
