Cold. Ominous, unflinching cold wrapped around him. The type of cold that creeps in through the corners of the soul and tears at the very bones. Victor’s eyes blinked open, steadily shifting back into focus, and as they did, he made out rocks topped with snow in a curious half-light. The land was desolate and dead, frozen and wasted for as far as his sight would allow him to strain. 

Memory returned to him. He recalled being flanked by three boys, and the violent intentions they put to him. But beyond that, his mind was blank. He huddled close to himself, crossing his arms to fight off his body’s shivers amid the dark cold that followed him. 

Where am I? he thought, trying his best to fight off the frost that crept under his muscles. 

He traipsed for miles into endless nothingness. The silver desert was empty all for the harsh rocks and frozen, dead trees that scattered the surrounding landscape, and not a sound could be heard even from the steps he took. He seemed to walk through limbo itself. 

In the moments that followed, he spotted movement on the horizon, amidst the dead mountains that loomed beyond. 

I’m saved! his inner voice said, but as a jog turned into a run, he felt his body seizing up like a rusted engine or ice itself. He felt an overwhelming weight push him down until his face fell into the snow underfoot. His skin dried and his throat grew coarse and painful. 

Behind you, mortal, came a thicker, deeper, lower pitch voice that inspired true terror echoed inside of him. The voice cut through him like sharp glass into an open wound, and as he stretched his head to see the being hovering above him, the visage of a beast-like woman loomed, shrouded in—or perhaps born of—absolute smog, and ash. 

The snow and frost beneath her naked feet melted and dried, the ground cracking dry from the warmth she perspired. 

Gravity sank the land around them as she landed. 

Victor was not sure if the sweat he experienced was from the ferocious heat of the creature, or his pure, abject fear. Black claws outstretched pulled Victor closer by the neck, and as he struggled to breathe, he felt the cold cut of something sharp pierce his abdomen. His mouth filled with blood and trickled out down his face and neck and his eyes became heavy, his body limp and numb, and darkness came. 

He awoke with a start, body jolting as if struck by lightning. Whimpering in protest, he reached for the wound to find his skin untouched, and all around him had transformed into the familiar space of his room. All was still and quiet, except for the chattering of birds beyond his window. Sunlight shone through his window, reflecting on the glass of water that sat beside him, and towards his face with a fierce, bright intensity. Midday already. As he removed the blanket, he noticed the figure of Edward sitting in the corner, distracted by his newspaper. 

“Ed?” Victor’s throat fought to speak from the heat. Without a word, Edward folded up the newspaper and went to pour a cup of water, except the water in the vase emitted a most unusual neon blue glow. “I-I’m not thirsty,” Victor told him. 

“This is medicine.” He placed the cup in his hands, and Victor hesitantly drank it. It tasted of iron and rust, and he winced at its bitterness. 

“Am I becoming a Veil as father said?” The medicine felt like fire as it ran down his throat and chest, but he bore it. 

“I’m sorry, sir. You should speak with your parents on this.” Edward’s voice was solemn and withdrawn, but Victor felt a heat build within him that caused his breathing to turn shallow and his skin to boil. 

“Is this because of earlier?” he spat like the snaps of a blazing fireplace. 

“Don’t,” the voice that rang from the doorway dulled his feelings. 

Victor’s gaze diverted to his father, his senses calming immediately. Despite the answers Victor looked for in his father’s face, he dared not to look back at him in the eye. Wordlessly, Edward stood and returned to the corner of the room, tinkering with vials in silence.