A breeze stirred—a warm, spring breeze, yes, but laced with something odd, something static. The edges of Kaisel’s poem curled faintly as if warmed from within, and the pen in his hand gave the tiniest twitch as if politely requesting he stop writing while he was ahead.
And then—
"Kaisel!" Vox’s voice came like a delighted gasp of a radio signal finding just the right frequency. "Ohhh, what verve! What bravado! What—chickens! I don’t quite understand that part, but I adore it all the same!"
A shimmer of something flickered across the paper. Ink spots re-formed into spirals for just a moment, like they were being watched.
"And those last two lines, my dear—so sharp, so cryptic! Are they a prophecy? A threat? A bit of poetry improv? I love a wildcard."
Then, with a brighter crackle—like an applause made of electricity—Vox added, "No-eh! Always a pleasure. You’re glowing today, in that invisible-spectrum sort of way."
A fizz, a pop, a satisfied hum.
And then nothing at all—except for a faint warmth still clinging to the page, as if the poem had been read aloud to something just beneath the surface of the world.
And then—
"Kaisel!" Vox’s voice came like a delighted gasp of a radio signal finding just the right frequency. "Ohhh, what verve! What bravado! What—chickens! I don’t quite understand that part, but I adore it all the same!"
A shimmer of something flickered across the paper. Ink spots re-formed into spirals for just a moment, like they were being watched.
"And those last two lines, my dear—so sharp, so cryptic! Are they a prophecy? A threat? A bit of poetry improv? I love a wildcard."
Then, with a brighter crackle—like an applause made of electricity—Vox added, "No-eh! Always a pleasure. You’re glowing today, in that invisible-spectrum sort of way."
A fizz, a pop, a satisfied hum.
And then nothing at all—except for a faint warmth still clinging to the page, as if the poem had been read aloud to something just beneath the surface of the world.
