Yara's laughter - a sound normally as bright and sharp as her daggers - rang out with an edge of manic hysteria as she executed a flawless backward flip onto a weather-worn boulder, the souls contained in her ornate glass jar flaring with agitated phosphorescence that cast strobing shadows across the canyon walls.
The captured spirits swirled in their prison like storm-tossed fireflies, their luminescence shifting through the color spectrum in apparent distress. "Told you!" she crowed, her voice trembling with barely-contained panic masquerading as amusement. "The choir doesn't sing with voices—it sings with absence!"
