Wisps of black mist seeped from the mummy and entered the wound in Mrs. Sidra's chest. This was a form of reception, using her body as a vessel, her soul as a lubricant, and herself as a carrier to be consumed.
Many tribes actually passed down their totems this way, lodging evil spirits in the bodies of successive prophets. That was why prophets rarely lived long.
As the black mist continued to be drawn out, the mummy's body did not turn white, but took on a strange translucence. He tried to rise and stop her, only to discover that his already weakened body had become even more fragile.
When he tried to push himself up against the edge of the coffin, his palm cracked and then crumbled the moment he exerted force, as though it had become excessively brittle.
Before his death all those years ago, he had used his life to seal the evil spirit. To preserve its own existence, the evil spirit had been forced to maintain his corpse. Now, as the evil spirit was drawn out, the body lost its support.
"Darling, I don't know what happened, but I hope you can stop."
"I can't stop anymore." Mrs. Sidra looked at her "husband." "My husband is already dead. He died ten years ago, the moment he sealed the evil spirit. All these years, I kept thinking you were still alive, that you were merely sleeping here, because I could awaken you.
"But now I realize I've only been deceiving myself all along. You're already gone. All I kept was a lingering trace. Really, how are you any different from the old clothes my husband once wore?
"If it's about remembrance, clothes actually make more suitable keepsakes than a corpse, don't they?
"Sigh.
"My husband wasn't particularly handsome