His fingers gently stroked the blade.

“I will take your pain,” he said.

And suddenly he slashed himself on the forearm with a knife. He screamed. Slashed again. He threw back his head high. The third time the blade cut through his skin along with his jacket.

The smell of iron was unbearably strong, and Jess was seized by another bout of nausea.

"I'll take your pain," he repeated, holding back a groan. - I will. For you.

"Don't," she whispered, barely audible. - Stop...

The knife was suddenly covered with frost and cracked. Its fragments rained down on Jess' stomach and chest.

The room became noticeably colder. Steam escaped...