The act of putting your soul in someone else's chest is, as we all know, something very intimate.
To let someone else hold the culmination of your Entire Being in the palm of their hands, between the ribs of their chest, maybe even pressed against their lungs,
Their soul beating in tandem with yours, pushing and pulling energy and magic like yours and theirs are all the same thing, like your very life-force Belongs there, your body cold from the lack of it inside it, where it belongs, yes, but still warm in Theirs.
You can't do it too long, of course, even a minute in and you'll start to feel Cold, so very cold, your body's magic dwindling without an organ to push it around, growing lethargic and cold in your veins and marrow, until you can barely even breathe.
You could die, fading to dust in the face of that great, cold emptiness, if your soul doesn't get back fast enough.
But what is love without the risk? What is safety, if not lying half dead and trusting someone else to keep watch?
What is Care, if not holding that heart in your gentle hands, the glow soft and inviting, the room quiet, and guiding it into that great cavern of Safety beneath your bones?
But of course, there Are exceptions here, as there are to anything else.
Killer, for example. His body is used to being without that warmth, and the pull of two souls combined gives him more than enough heat to stave off the cold, however far his soul may be.
The dreamtale twins, too, have this. As their souls are not merely a part of them, they Are them, and in possessing their vessels they keep Them warm, not the other way around.
Their souls, They are, little flames, burning soft and sucking energy; negativity, positivity, emotions from the air.
They do not Need that magic to survive, they need a host.
Parasitic in their nature, a fire without kindling, they cannot survive long without a body.
They can beat alongside your own soul, of course, the more willing you are the better, but you will find yourself growing Dizzy, tired, shaky and clumsy.
Your vision clouding over with soft dots and circles, pulsing, pulsing, pulsing in your head, like blood and magic.
If they are cold your fingers will ice over, tips first. If they're hot, the sweat will bead on your forhead, but effection is no one way street;
If you are warm, safe, your soul beating steady, soothing, theirs panicked and cold,
Then they will calm down as well.
They cannot stay there for long, they sense your tiredness, and you can sense their emotions, as they sense yours.
So cup that fire in your hands lest it burn out, don't leave it out in the wind and snow,
Push it back into that waiting, eyeless body, and hold your palms over its chest, until you can hear it beating
