On the wall beside the desk, a distorted figure clutching its head in a silent scream spoke in a fawning, delighted voice from a Painting Scroll formed from the remnants and contamination left behind by Steve the Wraith:
"Great Master, that glove has lost your presence and power. It died~"
Cyril looked expressionlessly at the Painting Scroll hanging on the wall.
"You sound pretty happy about it."
The distorted figure in the painting shook its head again and again. Its shrill voice was grating, like cat claws scraping across glass.
"No, no, Master. Actually, I'm very sad. I'm just not very good at expressing that emotion yet."
"My merciful Master, if you would bestow upon me some of the power and presence still lingering on that glove, I might undergo some positive evolution and draw closer to you."
...After a brief silence, Cyril shook his head and rejected the offer.
"No. You're already close enough."
Any closer, and with that awful voice constantly ringing in my ears, I'm afraid I'll tear you to pieces.
Gathering his thoughts, he took a glass Crystal Ball from the cabinet beneath the desk and held it between both hands. The transparent sphere gradually bloomed with dazzling starlight,
which was reflected in Cyril's eyes.
After a brief daze, images of what had happened in the room earlier surfaced in his mind.
The glove, doing its best to pass itself off as a "gentleman," stood on his desk and seemed to be arguing with the distorted, screaming Painting Scroll hanging on the wall. But the gentlemanly glove clearly wasn't gifted at arguing, and soon it fell silent, head bowed like a bullied victim.
As its mood grew lower and lower, brilliant starlight suddenly began to seep out of the glove, and it visibly weakened.
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