This is rather… odd. It's a really short piece from Maru and Moro's point of view.
When I found out… that they didn't have any souls, I was admittedly sad. I don't know. The idea of not having a soul strikes me as lonely. I felt rather sorry for them.
There's no plot, just thoughts.
We watch.
He is the black-haired boy, so loud and easily provoked, strung as if on a thin wire. Watanuki, my master calls him, and he is always irritated. Watanuki, we cheer, and he huffs at us.
And yet mistress has told us of when he was kind, so kind to the twins and the dead girl and to other people.
A typical human, all flesh and color and contradictions. Complexity in its form.
(He is living, is he not?)
--
Mistress… mistress.
She grants wishes, but maintains balance. She is beautiful, seductive, a temptress, with black hair that spills like ink.
She is not quite human, we like to think so.
(But what would our price be?)
--
Windows are pretty things.
Sometimes, when our master is out, we like to watch things outside. A world in which we do not exist. A world where we cannot tread.
Our world is the opulent indoors, a garden of valuable treasure, the separated palace of our mistress.
(But for a golden chest, maybe just a walk outside…?)
--
A soul we have not been given, and we watch as others live.
We are dead, both Moro and I.