"Grandfather," Shane whispered softly, a strange calm settling over his features as he stared down at the head in his hands. "Why would you sleep like this? With your body and head… separated? That's not good, you know."
His voice was too calm—eerily gentle—as he carried the severed head toward the motionless body lying stiff beneath the blood-soaked sheets. Fresh blood still oozed faintly from the stump, warm and sticky against Shane's skin, making his hands slick and red as he tried to fit the head back onto the neck like it was nothing more than a misplaced puzzle piece.
"You see, Grandfather," he murmured, voice wobbling between a pout and a whisper, "you're making such a mess. Look at all this blood. You're dripping everywhere. Why are you doing this, hmm? It's not right… it's not right at all."
