All was a haze of red. Red enshrouded her. Red filled her. She swam in it.
Was this death?
There was no pain. Silence pressed against her. She was calm. Comfortable. She ought to worry for her friends. She ought to wonder who had won the battle. But these questions didn’t interest her. She ought to care. She did not. Once she’d passed through the veil, the red mists of blood, all earthly matters were forgotten.
Holy Marye, Mother of God, pray for this sinner, now, at the hour of my death.
A light shone through …read more