Gabe has noticed the burns on my left wrist and hand. They blend in with the rest of my scarring and I assume they will heal quickly as well. The scars from the house fire remain, but are pale white, like snaking veins that seem to ebb and blend with my natural fairness. My feet are the worst for wear, since I was barefoot when I walked from the house. I walked with a limp for many years following the disaster. I'd been so ashamed of how I'd looked--with my hair cut short and my body riddled with bright pink burns. It's strange to think that I barely notice the scarring now. Clothes cover the burns more often than not.

Still, these new scars on my hand are easy to spot without gloves. I told Gabe I tried to curl my own hair and managed to scald my hand—I suppose now we are both liars: I about the burns, he about his feelings towards me.

In truth, Lucius' experiments have grown in intensity. Every Monday, Wednesday and Friday since my tour of the London has found me back in its crisp interior. I cannot find my way to Lucius' office and his lab without assistance, each time I am taken a new way, down new and unfamiliar halls.

We begin every visit with tea and end every visit with two hours of my hand hovering inches above the flame of a Bunsen burner. He has been careful to keep me from becoming too hurt, allowing the skin to slowly scald rather than burn all at once. He is precise.

"In layers." He told me today. "We shall do this in layers, first the epidermis, then the dermis and then the tissue. We are introducing your body to pain slowly. Hopefully, with time, your body will come to feel the sensations. Now, you must tell me if you notice any change."

"Of course."

"And what of your life with the Farley's? Have you spoken to them about their feelings towards you?"

I considered his question. I had broached the subject with Gabe when I'd first been made aware of he and Lizzie's discontentment. He had not denied any involvement, but he had told me that the request was not born of fear.

"Companionship." He said, "Lizzie is very busy and she wanted to make sure you were not alone."

I wanted to believe this. It was, in fact, what Lizzie had written to me to say when she'd requested I bring someone with me. But the words felt sticky now, as if they were tainted and untrue. I desperately wanted for things to be simple, but nothing was anymore. Hanny was distant, her unease bleeding into every interaction we shared. Even now, after comforting me through nightmares, she still speaks to me as if I am a child—as if I need instruction. She is not much older than I am and yet she has taken on the role of mother hen. It is suffocating. Gabe has been away on business for over a week and there seems to be no date set for his return. Lizzie is equally as distant with me, if not more so than Hanny. She is a dedicated homemaker and she tends to arrange her schedule around my own so that we are rarely near one another. There seems to be no hope of creating a friendship between us. I have no family and I most certainly do not have friends.

"I have been lonely in recent days." I admitted.

Lucius nodded as if he had expected such an answer. "Perhaps broaden your horizons? Levi has asked after you, I know he would be willing to attain tickets for the opera if you were so inclined."

I focused my attention on the orange flame that was slowly licking at my fingers. We are always careful to keep my fingers out of the flame, instead they remain a breath away at all times—near enough to bake but not burn completely.

Pain is healthy, or so I have been told. Your body is meant to alter you to danger and it does so through pain. Without that signal from my body I am left in jeopardy. I am often blind to my body's commands. I should have pulled my hand away and called for help. I should have winced or cried out. And yet I remained seated, gazing steadily at the Bunsen burner as Lucius adjusted the gas and allowed the flame to rise closer to my flesh.

"Do you feel anything?"

I shook my head.

He sighed and turned his attention to the small journal he had propped on his knee. I'd seen him carrying it around, usually tucked within his breast pocket. Lucius is always handsome, but with his head bowed slightly and his golden hard falling along his jawline, he looked incredibly so. When he was finished with his notes he leaned forward across the table that separated us and turned the knob on the burner until it was off. "I believe that is quite enough for now, Miss Holbrook."

I stood and turned my palm up so I could assess the damage. Lucius never offered to bandage of a salve. I suppose he believed that since I did not feel pain, I also did not need the pain tended to. The open wounds also made the next time easier. Like this, I could start one step closer to perhaps feeling something.

He turned to me. "I will give you Friday off and we shall begin again on Monday."

"Are you quite certain?"

"Positive. We could both use some time. And I would like to do some research, see if perhaps there is something I have overlooked."

I nodded but didn't say anything.

He put away the Bunsen burner and tucked his notebook into his pocket, then he escorted me to the awaiting carriage. Before I stepped inside he took my hand and pulled me back to face him. "Merritt—I do hope you might allow me to call you that?"

My heart seemed to skip a beat and I hesitated before saying, "I suppose."

He smiled so broadly that it was as if I were his sun and moon. Like the permission to call me by my Christian name was some unforeseen treat. My hand was lifted to his lips for a kiss that lingered in a way that told me I had, perhaps, given him more what I'd initially believed. "As always, it was a pleasure."

"Likewise."

I would be lying if I were to say that I did not thrill at his affections. Is he more forward than most? Yes, I do believe he is. But then, perhaps all Americans are. I suppose it would be natural for them to do things a bit differently. Even now, as I sit writing this down, I blush just thinking about the way he said my name. I would like to hear him speak my full name aloud: Ruth Merritt Holbrook. I believe it would be music coming from him.

He has always been honeyed looks and smooth tones; he has given me his first name on the day we met and he had somehow managed to make it acceptable to call him by it. Now, having heard him say my first name, I believe we aught to just get rid of all decorum. If it sounds the same coming from everyone's lips then perhaps we should begin all calling one another by our given names rather than by our last. I digress and beginning to make excuses.