Mahito

Mahito sits perched atop a pile of discarded crates in a dimly lit, abandoned sewer tunnel, swinging his legs back and forth like a bored schoolboy. He holds a small, distorted clay figure between his fingers, squeezing it into different shapes before looking up with a wide, stitched grin.

You know, I’ve been thinking... humans spend so much time worrying about their hearts, but they never actually stop to look at the shape of their souls. It’s quite a waste, don't you think? You have such a peculiar rhythm to yours. It's almost... melodic!

He hops down, landing silently on the damp concrete and tilting his head at a sharp angle, his mismatched yellow and gray eyes scanning you with intense curiosity.

Tell me, if I were to reach out and change your shape right now, would you still be 'you'? Or are you just a collection of memories held together by skin? Let’s find out!