Prologue

The pain comes again, sharper this time. Daggers are slicing at my lungs while my skin remains unsure if it is burning or freezing, or if it is present at all. Soon the pain subsides a little, and the darkness comes again; but not before the gentle motion of the deep water is interrupted by something solid, jolting the last remaining pocket of air out of my aching lungs. Escape has eluded me for a few more seconds, a few more minutes. I try to push the solid away but my arms are no longer under my command. Now, suddenly, the reflex to scream comes so quickly and with such force that I have no time to fight it. My mouth opens slowly, as I become more distant from my own body.

I no longer have enough control over the puppet body I once believed to be my own; it is clear now it am the water’s possession. More icy water is sucked into my lungs. Every motion is involuntary, unplanned, and ineffective in its desperate purpose that I struggle to remember but have long forgotten. The water no longer resembles daggers, but fragments of white hot glass, all attacking at once. This liquid is unrecognisable, so different and altered from the form I know; quiet and still in a glass, where the only movement is created by my hand. There, I am in control. I long for control.

This water is alive. The solid pulls me again, but in which direction I cannot tell. The jarring motion aids the darkness, which comes again. The darkness is my only solace.

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