Viktor's past began to haunt him, like a ghostly presence lurking in the
shadows. He remembered his mentor, who had drowned in vodka and self-pity. He recalled his lover, who had called his work "clever but
bloodless." The memories stung, and Viktor felt the weight of his own
failures bearing down upon him.
One night, as a blizzard raged outside, Viktor's feverish mind conjured
up visions of his mother's candle guttering, its light swallowed by
shadows. He stumbled out into the storm, driven by a desperate need to
prove himself. Anna found him, chopping wood in the midst of the tempest.
"Why not let it go?" she asked, her voice barely audible above the wind.
Viktor's response was a rasp, a barely intelligible whisper. "Because
it's the only thing that doesn't lie."
Anna's expression was a mixture of concern and frustration. She hauled
him back to the cabin, where she tended to his wounds and warmed him with
her presence. Viktor felt a sense of gratitude, but also a growing sense
of dependence. He was no longer the master of his own destiny, but a
shipwrecked sailor, clinging to the wreckage of his own ego.