Transference Part 2

  There was a flash of actinic light.  The waltz skipped twice.  Her father fell limp to the platform, as if he had been a marionette and his strings were unexpectedly cut.  Anticipation wound itself hurriedly into nerves.  Slowly, reverently, she opened the hooded brass enclosure.

Inside, a soft green glow ebbed within a leaded crystal jar.  Its nebulous form bounced gently against the walls of its confinement, and sensing the open top, began floating upward.  With only slight hesitation, a testament to her awe, she stoppered the jar.  It only took the work of a moment to seal the thing with lead infused wax.  If she was correct in her estimations, the element was the key to containment.
Annabelle held the container in both hands, bringing it to eye level.  With an avenue of escape no longer apparent, the confused cloud of her father's soul had coalesced into a nearly perfect sphere of emerald green light.  "Pa-pa," she exclaimed in delight.  "You are more beautiful than I could have imagined!"
The orb, looking as delicate as a soap bubble, vibrated to sound of her voice.  She spared a moment to look at the disheveled form of the currently soulless Lord Hestingford.  "Oh dear," Annabelle sighed, wondering, perhaps too late, if she should have developed a method to return the soul to its body.
"Father," she addressed the ectoplasm, "I declare the Essence Transferal Machine a resounding success!"  The green light brightened momentarily, causing Annabelle to wonder if it had been the content of the declaration or her enthusiasm that tendered the soul's rejoinder.  "Unfortunately," the light dimmed, "it shall be some time before I discover a way to reverse the effects."  Guilt, a concept foreign to her regardless, was immediately shunted away by the thrill of scientific discovery.
His body would perish, if it had not already, but there was nothing for it.  Still, the proper steps must be taken, lest the authorities determine, correctly, that the fault lie with her.
For now, Annabelle sat what remained of her dear father on the window ledge.  His soul casting its warm light against the frost limning the outside panes.  Having one last time ensured the seal was whole, she sashayed about her lab in time with the waltz in manner Elizabeth would have thoroughly disapproved of, cleaning up her odds and ends.  The single discordant frequency emitted by the gramophone never once unpleasant to her ears.
With nothing left to be done, Annabelle positioned herself comfortably in her chair, screamed bloody murder as shrilly as she was able, and feigned fainting.  Soon, her loyal Wilfrid would walk in to discover the scene, see her dear papa collapsed due to some unknown malady, and assume his darling Anna's innocence.
Green light danced in titillated response to the commotion within the house, bathing every surface in beautiful shifting color.  Tomorrow, she thought to herself as the tread of rushed footsteps approached, tomorrow I shall invite the store clerk.