“The Creator, who lies dead and dreaming…has dreams for us all. And…and when It wakes, It will…”

“There, there, that’s enough,” said Inspector Bryar. “You’re shaking like a leaf, Sister Ethne! An inspector from the Sepulcher is no reason to tremble so.”

“M-my…m-my apologies, Inspector,” said Ethne with a deep curtsey. Her mask, fine-featured and impassive, did not match the quailing tone issuing from it.

“We are not used to our ceremonies being attended by outsiders, I’m afraid,” said Father Yser. He spread his hands in an apologetic way, his fingers doing what his scarred visage could not.

“Of course, I understand completely,” said Bryar with a gentle laugh. “Half the time, I forget the liturgy myself whenever I’m called to recite it.”

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