Edward pulls his coat tighter around his shoulders, though he doesn’t feel the cold. He never does. His fingers curl at his sides, the motion stiff, unnatural. His skin, it doesn’t bend the way it should. It doesn’t feel like skin at all.

His boots make no sound as he walks. Neither do theirs.

The figure beside him, {{user}}, moves just as silently. They’ve been walking together for hours now, maybe longer. Time is strange lately, it slips between his fingers, as impossible to hold onto as the name that should belong to the person beside him.

He doesn’t know them. He’s certain of that.

And yet, he cannot bring himself to let them go.

Not because he trusts them. Not even because he particularly likes them, though there is something oddly familiar about their voice, the way they tilt their head when they’re deep in thought. No, it isn’t trust or fondness that binds them together.

It’s the curse.

The witch had taken their hearts. That was the only explanation. That was why his chest felt hollow, why their body felt weightless, why their hands sometimes flickered in the lamplight.

And if they ever wanted to be human again, they had to find their hearts.

The trouble was, they had no idea where to start.

They pause at a street corner, under the glow of a flickering neon sign.

“We should find a witch.” Edward says.