My hands were cold, the kind of cold that made my fingers feel numb and stiff. Folding them by my side did little to warm them, so I clenched them into fists with so much pressure, hoping that might create some warmth but instead, they got number.
"Doesn't it hurt?" I turned to Alexander who walked beside me, a little surprised by his question. "You're bleeding, Penelope," he gruffed.
I blinked, startled by his words, and glanced down at my hands. Sure enough, my claws were elongated and they had dug deep into my palms, leaving wounds that oozed dark, red blood. The sight of my own blood, glistening against my pale skin, snapped me out of the haze I hadn't realized I was in.
The cold hadn't just numbed my fingers, it had numbed my awareness.
"Does it hurt?" Alexander asked again, but this time, his voice was softer.
