Story by DB Mars, but more importantly,
Art by the fabulous @ondust(Happy Birthday!)
Chapter 11: The Ice Was All Between
As Hannibal had promised, the room was sparse, featuring a bed, desk, bookshelves, a wardrobe, and a wash-stand. There were no personal effects. The room had a wet, smoky smell that sent Will careening back through memory into his earliest days living in the hovel with his ailing mother at the edge of the forest, when the rains came and lashed down the chimney or soaked the woodpile despite his father’s efforts to keep it dry under an oilcloth. All was quiet save the patter of rain on the glass that glowed simply before him.
Drawn by it, he edged closer, examining the casement: new wood, newer mechanisms for opening the two side windows. The middle was an uninterrupted pane of glass, wavy in places. But in the center, at the very bottom, Will spotted something. He knelt, resting his hands on the windowsill, leaning forward until his forehead touched the glass. There were numbers scratched into the pane.
Will closed his eyes again, tracing the scratches with his fingertips. The pad of his index finger caught a razor edge of the etched glass, and he gasped, eyes flying open, lifting the finger to his mouth to instinctively soothe the sting. The cut was small, but it beaded up a ruby. Ruby. Diamond. Whoever etched the numbers into the window must have used a cut diamond with a pointed edge. He looked out the window, sucking on his finger until the bleeding stopped, tasting copper. The northeastern tower overlooked the slope descending away from the protective wall that circled the castle compound. The grass eased into a field, a dirt track leading to a grove of gnarled trees – an apple orchard flanked by a tangled mass of black raspberry bushes. Beyond was nothing but forest. From this angle, it felt like the castle was a ship alone at sea; if one were to stand in the field before the orchard and look back at Castle Lecter, it would appear as a stone galleon alone in the velvet black Caribbean waters, entirely alone and without a pharos to guide it away from the rocks.
He closed his eyes again and listened to his own heartbeat as it syncopated with the rain. A sweeping sound. Fwum. Fwum. Fwum. Each beat muffled, as if a metronome lived in his chest, the pendulum cutting through blood and viscera.
I have been imprisoned in this room for years. I have learned its every nook and inch. There is no escape – they have barred the window and the door. Even the light is limited, rationed – I live in the shadow of my ancestral home. But there is a way. I will capture the light and I will be baptised by it.