It was as if the cogs of my mind had been oiled up, and they started moving again. The moment I heard the Matriarch's words, something clicked.
'...Animator.'
I slowly turned my attention towards the TV.
Mr. Jingles. He was... a cartoon character.
He was part of a greater animation with a whole background and everything.
My eyes couldn't help but fix on the child in the corner. He was drawing as usual, his gaze fixed on the drawing.
'Could he be Mr. Jingles? Could he...'
My heart sped up at the thought.
The more I stared at the child, the more unsettled I felt.
From the slow movements of his hand to his seemingly detached gaze. The more I looked at him, the more it felt like I was onto something.
'It's him. It has—'
"I think the reason why he doesn't speak so much is because he's still struggling to cope with his father's death. It's such a pity since things were just turning around for them."
