If one looked hard enough, the jar of soul is a thing you can get lost on. Among the fiery yellow sun-like prominence figments on the outer rims, one could see a blurred play of Tim Dutch’s memories. Timothy couldn’t take out the finer details but they looked familiar tune to him - he pried on Tim’s memories after all. He could see a memory where he first rode his bike where it fleeted next to a memory of him climbing a tree. Tim Dutch has a nice childhood before his rise to popularity, although, it’s a shame that a mage stole all that so that she could escape her selfish problems. Timothy looked with pity at the thing embraced within his arms. He’s going to take care of it, in remembrance of the real Tim Dutch. He’ll wipe the jar every day, maybe even talk to it. He’s going to - Whoops!
When Timothy opened the door and closed it with his butt, he lost his balance and that’s where the jar slipped on his hand. The soul flashed a bright light that blinded Timothy for a second. He regained his vision seconds later but his heartbeat rose twice at what he saw immediately after.
The soul is gone, it’s just pieces of glass and a tin lid. Timothy flipped over the pieces of glass, hoping that figments of the soul would be left. It was stupid as the glass is transparent, he’d see what lies underneath even if he didn’t flip it. But what can he do? The soul is gone and it’s all his fault. Well, not all of him - just his dummy thicc ass.