Time wheeled forward, and it could be felt as a kind of vibration throughout the prison. An almost tangible force. Sometimes thick and other times paper-thin.

As usual, though the world turned, neither Asterion nor I felt the ravages of time. Had there been mirrors, their serene surfaces would have shown no advancement of age, or only momentarily, and then erased, reverted. And though I did all the work while Asterion lounged like a nobleman, fatigue never visited my limbs, and weariness remained a stranger.

And before I knew it, the week of the nine was almost upon us.

Always before, I was my own person. I had my role to fulfill, yes, but I chose the order and manner of my duties. I had a great deal of latitude in running the prison and caring for my ward. I was comfortable with my routines, though I felt the edges of a craving—a craving for music from elsewhere—begin to stir within me, somewhat stronger than usual. I didn’t dare to hope that it meant that my time here was almost at an end. I was not prepared for what was to come.

Mysterious changes arrived—starting with me.

Seven days before the expected arrival of the nine, I began to feel a slight headache, from which I had never suffered before. Healthy as a horse, Asterion always used to say brightly. Knock on wood, I would respond with equal cheer. I drank more water and tried to close my eyes when the sun seemed too intense. I gritted my teeth and tried to ignore the incessant pounding, a throbbing so regular it seemed to overshadow and mock the beating of my heart, the pulsing of my blood.

Six days before the arrival of the nine, my own fingers and feet went numb as blocks of stone. They even looked pale, as though the blood were retreating from them, slowly, like a tide receding with the moon. It was difficult to carry out my tasks as I tried to compensate for the lack of sensory perception. And the headache did not subside, but grew solid and rigid, like a band of iron around my skull.

Five days before the ceremony, I felt a tightness in my chest and my left arm grew rigid and pained, as if a line of needles were marching up it and closer to my heart. The numbness grew and the headache settled behind my eyes like iron weights. Deep in the recesses of my mind, I could hear something inchoate, perhaps attempting to take form, but whether it was the coming of music or not, I could not say.

I tried to continue my duties as usual, and Asterion was so distracted he didn’t notice. I kept a smile on my face.