The Master has made many promises.
Red eyes and skinny black tails squirm and blink as they swim through the mist. He can almost taste them. Feel them. Their puny lives and hands in his. But he is tired of waiting, so he strikes, recklessly and impulsively.
The blood is sweet upon his tongue. He’s only vaguely aware of the caretaker’s roughness as he swallows, as they’re moving so quickly to restrain him that he finds it hard to protest. The fear and terror in Dr. Seward’s eyes does nothing to stop his unquenchable desire and thirst. His and the Master’s.
Cold and empty, always empty is his cell. His only visitors are from Seward and flies and spiders. But there’s a considerable warmth when she visits him. A smile reserved for the sane. And he saves her gentle kiss upon his forehead when she leaves, reserves information for her and her alone, and makes a secret vow to not let Him near her.
Renfield finds a fly, and crushes it between his fingers.
Red, like life.