The darkness of the cave was a suffocating blanket. The thin air condensed into tiny ice crystals that clung to the walls like broken teeth, reflecting an almost ghostly blue light. Damon's body lay on the uneven floor, convulsing with spasms that came in waves. His chest rose and fell unevenly, the hot vapor of his breath dissipating into white clouds that quickly froze in the air.
The cold was unbearable. Not just a physical cold, but one that seemed to corrode every cell, every particle of his existence. His veins turned into frozen rivers, his blood struggling in vain to continue its course. His skin, pale and scarred with cracks, gave the impression that he was slowly becoming part of the cave, a brittle statue made of flesh and ice.
And yet, what hurt most wasn't the physical agony.
It was the silence.
The loneliness.
