You can hear them crying out in the square. It's loud, raucous. Distracting. You hope they will tire themselves out eventually. If this is going to be your last night, you'd hope to get at least some sleep.

You sit in your cell and wonder. At first, you found it curious that there are ready made holding cells in cathedrals, but then you thought that perhaps you should not be. It is always in one's most desperate moments that one begins to accept the coldest truths. You have lived your life in love; a fevered love of life and all things that breathe and grow and feel. You do not regret it. Still, now you wonder if you have not seen things clearly as you should have, blinded by circumstance and sheer will. After all, you have always been loved. Doted on by your parents, adored by the people. Adored by your patients. Adored by him.

Perhaps that is why you cannot understand fear. You have never truly known it.

But there is fear in your heart. True, you do not want to die, but it is not death you fear. You have always wanted a mortal life. It is not even what comes after. All these ramblings of heaven and hell and sin and GOD have never stirred you. No, no – you fear for those silly, war-mongering, bloodthirsty beasts out in the courtyard; teeth-gnashing, hating, scared. You fear for those who sit at home and wonder when the sun will rise, and when the day will come to wipe away all the bloody, black marks of this terrible deed done past. You know they are praying that it will finally be enough, the last time. You wonder if the sun rises fast enough they will be safe.

(You know they will not be.)

The cell is cold, and you shiver. They have refused you a blanket, water, food, any clothes or comfort. Giving a witch pity is no better than feeding the devil favours. It is all a deception, they said to each other, each word a hurried whisper as they watched you dragged in on chains. Pass it on. We must protect ourselves.

So. You sit in your cell, stripped and humiliated and cold, and collapse and shiver and wish. The last human refuge in desperation.

You wish for him to be here, to hold you one last time. You want to hear his voice. You wish to see your son. You want to tell them that you love them and that they must not forget all the things that you loved and lived for. You want them to remember how to forgive. You wish, you want-

You want this to be over.

The sun cannot rise soon enough.