When he woke, exhausted and sweating, he discovered a figure crouching in the shadows. Thinking it was his angel, he allowed himself a measure of relief. But when she did not at once come closer, the dread slowly gathered in his belly. This was it. The moment had come for her to deliver him into the hands of the Devil.

The panic suffocated him all at once, frantic questions revolving in his mind. He did not know if he had been anointed, he must confess his sins – had there been a priest? Even as he thought it, he dismissed it. The desire for absolution was a useless reflex that he had never unlearnt. He had long known that his soul could not be cleansed, that Hell would welcome him. In fact, it was surely the Devil himself who waited in the corner of this stinking hut. He merited no intermediary from the Almighty. He was a fool to ever have thought it. Why waste time with an angel? God was more expedient than that.

He coughed, found his voice. “I always belonged to you,” he admitted to the devil in the shadows, with a laugh that sounded barely alive. As he had done a thousand times, he imagined his heart encased in ice. Now he imagined what hellfire would do to it. “Come take me now, if even you will have me.”

The figure moved, and a blade shimmered in the dim firelight. He squinted, watching the shadow rise up to full height, dagger in hand. It was a devil from Hell. It was Aymer, come to take him. Merciful God, he prayed fervently, panic flaring in his breast, though I be not worthy, though I waited too long, I have tried, oh my Lord. Grant me this, that it is not him who takes me to the fiery pit. Anyone, anything, but not him. A thousand demons over that one.

He stared at the unmoving shadow, feeling the fear move like a serpent in him, curling about his bones. He peered through the dimness and saw Aymer’s face. Love and loathing, repentance and fury, all tangled together in his gut at the sight. “Father, my father, not mine,” he whispered, hardly knowing what he would say. Then the light changed, the face changed. It was his own face. Younger, when I was young, he thought. Not Aymer. It was his younger self. Standing with a dagger in the shadows over the bed of a helpless man – yes, that was himself and no other. A perfect justice.

But then she was there, the veil glowing white around her face.