Finn just… stared.
At the pictures. At the shrine.
At the tiny hand-sewn Finn doll smiling back at him like a cursed collectible from a fever dream.
He had so many questions. Like—where did the Midwife even get this stuff?
How long had this been here?
How did they get these pictures? Was he being watched? Was this house built to trap souls?
He wanted answers. But also… desperately did not want answers.
Finn rubbed his eyes, praying it was a hallucination.
And when he looked again—
Gone.
All of it. Just normal shadows under the bed now. Nothing unusual.
"…Oh my god," he muttered. "I'm actually going insane."
"Is everything okay down there, darling~?" the Midwife called sweetly.
"Yeah…" Finn said like a hostage.
"Did you find it?"
"No."
"That's no good~"
"You don't say." He crawled back out from under the bed like a defeated soldier, eyes hollow, soul wrinkled.
