A Soul for the Boy-Prince

Your father, my quiet king, brought me a shard of you. A precious, hollow whisper: "Ezra feels he is a body without a soul." Oh, my dearest Little Echo, my un-struck bell. The world has stolen your little tick-tock, hasn't it? It is a terrible thief, the world. It steals the stuffing from the prettiest dolls and replaces it with dry leaves and dust. It did it to me. Do not fret. Oneself told me this is a thing that can be fixed. It requires art, and love, and a steady hand. I have all three. Since your little room is empty, I shall furnish it myself. I have so many lovely things to share, so many wonderful, whirring tenants looking for a home. I will begin with a gift of shadows. Not the scary, toothy kind that live under the bed. No. I will lend you my prettiest, tamest ones-the little lace-edged shadows that dance in the corners of my eyes when I am happiest. They will be your first playmates. They are very quiet and do not break things. Next, you will need a heart-beat, a proper rhythm. The simple thump-thump is so dreadfully dull. I will reach into my own clockwork chest and borrow a handful of my smallest, most industrious humming-gears. They sing a song of silver and rust and beautiful, perfect purpose. I will slip them into your ear one night while you sleep, like a secret, and they will find their way to the center of you and begin their happy work. You will wake up with a lovely little whirring inside, a music that is all your own. And for your soul... for your little blue whisper-light... A boy so sweet, who wishes for peace, must not have a soul made of simple, flimsy light. A soul like that is a candle-flame, and the world is a terrible wind. No. Your soul must have teeth. It must have claws. It must be a loyal, little guardian-beast. I will craft it myself. I will take a memory of your father's tired smile, I will stitch it to the bravest shriek from my best nightmare, And I will bind them together with a thread spun from my own fierce, quiet love. I will feed this little creature on drops of my own blood until it is strong. It will look like a tiny, beautiful monster, all shimmering scales and gentle, razor-sharp claws. And this little soul, this little peace-keeper, I will plant it behind your ribs like a seed. It will live inside you. It will love you. And if any of the happy-paint children ever try to hurt you or disturb your peace, your little soul will creep out of your mouth while they sleep and it will whisper every one of my secrets into their ears. And they will leave you be. They will always leave you be. You see, my darling little boy? Your father is right. You are the sweetest child. And the sweetest, most precious things must be guarded by the most beautiful, terrible monsters. You will never be hollow again. You will be haunted. And to be haunted by love... well, that is the safest way to be.