Singing Pumpkin -

: Every night at midnight, the bellows would pump, and the pumpkin would sing. It sang of lost sunlight, the weight of the soil, and the agony of being an immortal soul trapped in a decaying vegetable.

On the first night of the frost, the pumpkin's carved face twisted, its jagged mouth opening wide. Out poured Clara's famous aria, but it was warped. The warmth was gone, replaced by a hollow, weeping resonance that vibrated through the floorboards. Singing Pumpkin

⚡ : Some things are meant to be temporary, and trying to immortalize beauty by force only turns it into a monster. : Every night at midnight, the bellows would