When Tom opened his eyes, he couldn't tell if they were still shut or not. Inky darkness surrounded him on all sides... his whole body was steeped in a numb feeling, like he was swimming in a pool of TV static. Something heavy was weighing down on his chest. Though the numbness made it hard to tell, it felt like he was laying down... for all he knew, he was suspended in some kind of void.

Am I... dead? No... no no, wait, no...

Streaks of light hung in front of him, glowing cracks in the blackness. The light that poured out from them was a blur to Tom's eyes, which had not yet adjusted to these dark new surroundings.

Is that... the light at the end of the tunnel? Oh God. I really am dead, aren't I?

Grim pictures flashed through Tom's head. That tornado must've sucked him up and tore him limb from limb, or flung him through a window, or even a roof. Or maybe, a bolt of lightning had hit him, zapping him to death in an instant like a prisoner in the electric chair!

Immediately, jolted on by fear, the teen's breathing turned ragged. Breaking out of his paralysis, he instinctively rocketed up - turned out he was laying down after all. On the way up, something in front of him was knocked aside, clattering to an unseen floor. A board of wood... wait, a door?

No... a lid.

The lid of a coffin.

Tom had been laying down inside a coffin, propped up on a slab of stone that looked to serve the purpose of a table. Now, that alone was very strange. But what Tom saw around him... well, it was weirder than anything he could've imagined.

Last year, he, his mom, and his little sister had all gone on a vacation to the UK. Mom had saved up for it for so long... as part of the tour, they visited the various medieval castles and towers that dotted the countrysides. The room that the teen was in now was very similar to a chamber one would find in one of those old castles, only as it was when it was actually in use. It was small, cramped, made all of stone brick... the open hatch in the ceiling above him was the only window. The walls were lined with bookshelves, each one packed full, and aside from the table he was now on, the only other piece of furniture was a wooden desk. An archaic tome laid open on it, along with various writing implements - feather pens and crude pencils. There was a candle on it too, clearly overworked... it was pretty much a melty lump of wax.

What the...?

Feeling was beginning to return to Tom's limbs. They still felt oddly light. Slowly, cautiously, Tom began to creep out of the coffin, filled with a curious desire to examine his surroundings. HIs movements weren't deliberate enough though - as he tried to get one of his legs out of the coffin, the whole thing slid over the stone table's edge.

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Shit!

Tom crashed onto the hard ground... Jesus, it did not feel good.

At least I'm not numb anymore, Tom thought, rising up to his feet and rubbing his sore back. For some reason, his legs felt longer than usual - his arms did too. Had he gotten taller?

Speaking of his arms, something was restricting their movement - his hands moved to his chest. That weight from before... it was a metal box, which was held rigidly in place by thick iron chains that went over his shoulders and waist.

Weird... I'm going to be thinking that word a lot, aren't I?

Tom wasn't wearing his hoodie anymore. Instead some sort of silky black robe covered his body. Gloves of a similar color and texture - cut from the same fabric, maybe - were on his hands. Taking his hands off the box on his chest, Tom felt one of his sleeves... man, this thing is thin. No wonder I'm feeling so cold.

"Milord?"

At the sound of an unfamiliar voice, Tom swiveled in place. In the corner of the room was a metal door - someone was rapping on it. Someone with a scary, raspy voice.

"Lord Corvus? Are you awake?" the voice continued to speak. "I heard a crash."

Lord Corvus?

Too frightened to speak, Tom took a few slow steps towards the door. Every now and then, the voice - well, the person with the voice - would call out again. Whenever he did, Tom felt a shock go through him, and was stunned in place for a second.

"Is something wrong? I can hear you walking..."

The door creaked open, just a crack, and an eye peered inside. Whoever the eye belonged to must be prodigiously short - it was at about Tom's waist level.

"Ah! You are awake!" the door was pushed open the rest of the way. Tom tried hard not to stare at the figure standing before him.

It was a small, small, hunched-over man, with skin paler than printer paper and eyes that bulged out far. The last messy remnants of a head of dark hair clung to his scalp, hard to see under the hooded garment of stitched-together rags that he wore. A large, rusted pair of bolt cutters - their ancient ancestor, at least - hung in his grip.

"Forgive the intrusion, Lord Corvus." he said, raising up the bolt cutters and giving them a few snips. "It looks like the new rejuvenation spell didn't work out, hmm? That's too bad. Shall I remove your phylactery?"

Rejuvenation? Phylactery? Lord Corvus??

"Uhhh..." Tom squeaked, then was surprised at the deepness of his voice. "What... who... huh?"

Concern flashed on the short man's face. "... are you alright, milord?"

"I..."

Suddenly, Tom felt the sudden urge to feel his chest.

"Get it off... get it off!"

Nodding, the man moved in, circling around Tom's back. Though he had to stand on his tiptoes to do it, Tom could feel that he cut the chains... they went slack, and the box fell to the ground.

"Milord, why didn't you..."

The buzz of panic in his ears drowning out the man's rasp of a voice, Tom started pulling open the robe he wore. He frantically slipped his hands inside, sliding them to where his chest would be, his pectoral region.

Instead of flesh, he felt... something else.

Rows of bone... his ribs... his sternum. Smooth and hard. And in the cracks between them... squishy, soft flesh.

Organs.

"Wh... where..." Tom stammered. "Where'd my chest go?"

For the second time, everything went black.