บท 61: Chapter 61

And so he did.

The side of the tub was hot, not cold, and when Blaze found it, he huddled against it. His skin smoked and burned, but that was all right. The silence ate at him in a way the witch’s teeth and the blades and the cold could not, and Blaze longed for the cuts and the pain. He longed to feel, to be held, to hold. He needed to disappear, he needed not to be here, so he wadded what was left of himself into as tiny a ball as possible, and perhaps he slept. Perhaps he dreamed. Blaze wasn’t sure; when he was aware of himself, he couldn’t remember a thing.