Winter, 1223

On the night of the 24th of December, Alicia ex Criamon has another vision.

Before you is a grand altar, above it hangs the body of Christ on a cross. You look up at it from your place kneeling on the cold floor, your hands and feet bound in chains.

“It is good that you didn’t die with the rest.” says a girl’s voice.

“Now you can die alone here instead. If you had told us where he is…” says another.

A girl stands before you. Not yet grown into womanhood, she has long dark hair and cold, blue eyes. “We would so much have liked to see father again.”

The second girl joins her. She is like the first, and holds a knife in one hand. She reaches forward and grabs your hair, forcing your head down onto the altar. “Mother wouldn’t like it, but mother isn’t always right.”

There is a pain in your neck, blood splashes onto the altar in front of you and then your head is carried up and away from your body. Your vision blurs as your head is dropped onto the altar.

“Our brother will have to be our mother and our father now.”

“We’ll leave your body here for him.”

“But not your head. We have plans for that.”

Your sight is gone, and as your hearing fades so your dream ends.