"Mrs. Manchester, you said something about my mother's soul. She indeed shattered her soul," Mirabella stated, her voice steady, though her mind was racing.
"Really?" Mrs. Manchester turned to Mirabella, her ethereal golden eyes wide with sudden, desperate hope.
"If she did that, it means she isn't dead," the phantom woman breathed, the golden light of her form flickering with emotion. "Locate one of her souls and ask her the way to make her whole again." She paused, her gaze shifting to Carl, her expression morphing into one of profound sorrow.
"I wish we had that power, but we are gone forever," she muttered sadly, the reality of her shattered existence settling heavily over her.
Mirabella turned to Carl. He was entirely silent, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles were white beneath his gloves. To give him a moment to process the weight of his fabricated life, she redirected the conversation to the immediate mechanics of his power.
