Fade
Victor put himself to rights in England. Cut his hair as short as propriety would allow, traded his waterlogged clothes for English wool suiting. Sent letters to his family with his location, assuring them of his well-being and informing them that future mail for him could be sent to this address.
He picked a hotel with running water, at incredible expense, and stayed for two days, preparing to go back out into the world again. Victor needed to remind himself of who he was.
He drank good wine and ate beef pies, neither as bright and flavorful as Willem’s hearty stew. Took long hours in the bath soaking his skin, healed it with balms. Lying in rapidly cooling water with his eyes closed. Getting used to the steady ache in his chest.
In the daytime, he looked at his body in the mirror. It had been almost a month and he could already see changes. The muscle he’d put on from his crimes in the night had begun to whittle down.
His arms looked soft; his hands were rougher than they’d been when he’d had them immersed in soft water and disinfectants.
He was paler than he should be, weaker than he’d ever been.