Parrish only became aware of his lowering body temperature when he finally realized he was shivering. He'd spent heavens know how long in that square cube of nothingness, wondering how many minutes, hours or perhaps even days had passed with him still trapped.

He'd noticed that the dull, walls surrounding him were being increasingly covered in frost and ice, their once repulsive yellow color was then starting to turn into a shimmering snow white, if only that meant a good thing at least. No, instead, Parrish was more and more coming to terms with his imminent death, he saw himself freeze out of commission.

Although he knew the hellhound part of him would be just fine, he was already mourning the other part of him, the life of Jordan Parrish; he wondered what kind of world, and what would it look like when or if, he'd ever be set free from his ice shell again. How long would it take for that to even happen? centuries?

He remained in a crouching position, hands tight around his own arms, in a vain attempt a prolonging the freezing process, perhaps it was the silence that would drive him insane before anything else killed him, all he could hear in there was his intense and desperate breathing rhythm.

"Lovely, isn't it?" or perhaps he wasn't going to go insane? A faint and soft voice reached his eardrums.

Without much consideration he responded, "What's so lovely?" he grunted between his teeth, the cold becoming less and less bearable by the second.

"Well, the sight of you dying of couse!" she said, sounding a tad louder than the first time she spoke.

"I can't recognize your voice, " he managed.

"Don't fret much dear, you don't know me," she kept quiet for a moment before adding, "we don't want you exhausting the last of your energy that fast, not before we get to chat, that is,"

Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" he tried to sound determinate or the least bit threatening, but his lungs were struggling to work, and it all came out in severed huffs.

"Shouldn't I? It's not everyday I get to witness the spark of a hellhound flame out, it's such a rare thing, you see? Even for somebody like me, "

"Will you at least tell me who you are?" He asked.

"Such a shame too... I really liked you, but we had to take you out first, I am sure you understand we can't have a hellhound pulling our whiskers if we want to get some real work done around here,"

She'd completely ignored his query, Parrish expected it, she wasn't just going to answer all of his questions, not without stringing him along at the very least. So, he decided to follow her flow, "You liked me? Even you said that I didn't know you,"

"I said you didn't know me, I never said I didn't know you,"

"Are you gonna tell me who you are before I die, at least?"

"I can tell or... I can show you," through her words Parrish had the feeling that she was some sort of an old soul, like she was from a completely different era, something about the way she spoke and the tone she picked with him," Well aren't you going to look?" she snapped him out of his thoughts.

Rummaging through his own deep sea of contemplations, he'd missed the fact that she... was standing right beside him. He craned his neck upwards with much difficulty to see her. In many ways, she seemed familiar to him, on one hand like he'd known her for quite the long time but on the other, like he'd only recently met her.

Her gorgeous titanium white hair, extending down to her lower back, thin and loose but voluminous nonetheless, her eyes bared a fierce piercing look, as hard as diamond, the consistency wasn't all they had from that precious stone, her eyes did look like diamonds, shinning gray, he wondered if her skin had always been of that color, or if... If she'd looked more human once upon a time, unnaturally pale as sheet she was that woman.

"Who are you?" he attempted again with that question.

"I am somebody's daughter, used to be somebody's sister And I..."

She put emphasis on the word 'used' in her statement and she was about to proceed, before he cut her off, "You're a banshee!" he uttered, more so terrified than he wanted to be.

"Well, mostly," she admitted plainly.

"Can I get a name?" the words escaped his mouth before he could do anything about it. Why did he ask her in such a friendly tone? He'll never understand.

"Whatever use would you have with my name?"

"None," he quietly muttered.

"Euriella, that is my name,"