IN HER DREAMS, SHE WAS ALWAYS RUNNING.

Her body was slick with sweat within her coat, breath coming up heavy, her feet pounding against the ice as she raced over the Spikes. Her muscles burned, but the air she breathed froze her from the inside out.

Behind her came the shouts. Keep going! Don't stop for anything! Don't you dare look back! But sometimes it wasn't any of these things. Sometimes, all her parents could scream was run.

It didn't matter how fast she went. The thing with too many faces always caught up with her, cornering her at the edge of a vast precipice. Somewhere on the Spikes, her parents were gone forever, and she would join them.

Her feet almost slipped. She looked back, and her stomach dropped into her boots; ice crumbled into the gaping hole behind her, massive ice formations sticking out of the cold ground below, narrowed into needle-sharp points. When she turned forward again, the thing was stalking towards her, spattered with blood—mama and papa, she thought to herself, horrified—and it could never decide who it wanted to be. It was handsome, then ugly, then a gross misinterpretation of a human face.

It came close, and she found she could go no further back without falling to her death. With a single pale hand, it reached for her, cold fingers disappearing within the folds of her coat. Its lips tilted upwards, perhaps because it felt the frantic beating of her heart, and its fingers closed around the pendant that hung from her neck.

"D-don't," she stammered. "Please. It's my mother's."

The thing tilted its head, features reforming until it was only a boy silhouetted by the full moon, a boy with a dark gaze and a solemn frown. Its new face only served to make her tremble; in all the stories her papa had read to her, the things that appeared harmless at first glance always turned out to be the things to fear the most.

Slowly, the boy released her pendant. She let out a breath of relief, only for that breath to catch in her throat, sharp tendrils digging in until it was stuck. The boy's hand had moved up to her cheek, cupping it. She tried to shake her head out of his grip, but his fingers went to her chin, holding it firm, forcing her to look his way. The light of the moon dazed her for the briefest of moments.

"You have such beautiful eyes," he whispered. "Tell me, little one. What is your gift?"

"Mama and papa made me promise not to say," she whispered back. "I'm not normal."

"Do you think I'm normal?" the boy asked. "Come now. I won't tell anyone."

She gulped, trying not to think about what was behind her. Beneath her. What would happen if she fell.

"I... I have the Sight."

"What else can you do?" he pressed.

"I—I can move quickly. Quicker than everyone else."

The boy made a sound of understanding from deep in his throat. "Yes. I see that now. I was wondering why you managed to evade me for so long."

She scrunched her eyes shut, and within moments, her cheeks were wet, both warm and cold as her tears began to freeze on her face. Her eyes opened again when the boy wiped those tears away, and now his frown was not solemn but apologetic.

"You look nothing like her, you know," he told her. "Nothing at all."

"Who?" she inquired, voice thin.

He shook his head. His hand moved again, and it was back within the folds of her coat, frigid fingers closing once more around her pendant. His other hand went to her shoulder, grasping tight.

"Please!" she cried.

"It will be quick." He pushed on her shoulder, pulling on the pendant. "I promise."

She tried to brace herself on the ice, leaning back to tug the necklace away. The back of her neck seized with a sudden, sharp pain, building until it reached a crescendo, the tension growing—

Snap.

Her pendant came away from her neck, a glint of silver in the moonlight, one half of it clutched in the boy's pale hand. She stumbled, her boots finding no purchase on the ice, and she scrabbled for something—anything—to hold onto.

The boy stepped back, the solemn frown firmly planted on his face again, just as her fingers brushed against what felt like a thousand stinging threads. His eyes widened.

"No," he breathed, and he reached for her, but it was too late.

She held his gaze as she tumbled backwards into oblivion.