A shriek pierced the morning, and the couple shot out of bed, rushing across the hall to their youngest daughter’s room. “Illia, are you okay?!”
“I’m awake, but she wouldn’t get out of bed to play with me!” The young girl pointed accusingly at the mouse morph, cowering against the wall and clutching her bleeding arm.
“What did you do?” Her mother knelt down and began checking her over.
“I tried shaking her, but she just ignored me, so I poked her with my scissors. I’m fine, mom.” She swatted her mother’s hands away. “She’s the one that’s broken. I want a new one that will play with me.”
“That’s not how it works, sweetie. She’s part of the family, not a toy.”
Her father came back with a rag and wrapped it around the mouse girl’s arm. “Well, there’s blood on the carpet and the sheets and the wall, and it’s not stopping. I think I’ll have to take her to that clinic they mentioned.”
“Good! Trade her in for another one.” Illia sneered at the injured morph.
Her father looked at his wife, “You get her cleaned up, and I’ll take care of this. Come on, hurry up before you start dripping again.” He half dragged the mouse morph out of the room.
