“After everything it’s cost to reach this point?” sighed Viktor. “Without doubt.”

She spread her arms and dissipated until she was merely the echo of a woman, wreathed in vapour. A memory of what had been, and what might one day be again.

“Hurry,” she breathed sharply. “I cannot bear this long.”

Viktor swore to himself. He’d wanted more time, to glean from Anastacia what his role would be. And now time was lost, and preparation unthinkable. Only instinct remained.

He closed his eyes and willed his shadow to life. He gasped as it made contact with Anastacia’s being, overwhelmed by the myriad emotions of a naked soul.

Fear. He’d expected fear, but not the gnawing want billowing beneath. His heart ached with the sorrow of it, even though he knew it was but a sliver of what Anastacia felt. And the light at her core . . . it burned him as it did his shadow. Every breath was a struggle. Every stroke of his quickening heart a wearying toil. And yet there was beauty too – a sense of contentment so overwhelming that Viktor lost himself within it.

He awoke on the flagstones, his cheek matted in drool and Calenne’s urgent hand on his shoulder.

“I was right before,” she said archly, if with a note of humour. “It was some northwealder’s perversity.”

Viktor forced himself groggily up onto one elbow. “Anastacia?”

With Calenne’s help, he staggered to his feet. Of Anastacia, there was no sign. The doll lay unmoving on the altar.

Failure thickened Viktor’s throat. He grabbed Calenne’s arm. “What did you see? Tell me!”

“Viktor, you’re hurting me!”

He let go, still fighting the nausea of aftermath.

The doll sat bolt upright.

Calenne yelped then pressed a hand to her mouth in embarrassment. The doll grasped at the edge of the altar, porcelain fingers clinking against marble.

The chapel filled with a rasping, breathy sound. Had Viktor not known better, he’d have thought the doll was gasping for air. The head turned and twisted, glancing first one way and then the next. Then Anastacia’s balance failed and she plunged sideways. The lantern at her feet went with her. It shattered, lengthening the shadows.

Viktor caught her at the altar’s edge, but barely. He pitched her upright and swung her legs around.

[[What have you done to me?]] The desperate voice was Anastacia’s, but hollow with loss and confusion. She raised a hand and flexed her fingers. Leather joints creaked and settled. [[I can’t feel anything! I can barely see!]]

Her eyes, at least, remained her own – cold, dark and welling with tears.

Viktor took her hands in his. “It will take you time to adjust. You’ll grow accustomed . . .”

[[No!]] She ripped her hands free and braced them against the altar. Cracks crazed outwards across the marble. [[This body is cold and dead. I reject it!]]