A new day arrived. A day of pain and darkness. I drifted awake.

Where was I? How was I? Why was I?

I knew I was waking up, so when had I gone to sleep? I remembered the mage health clinic, with its bed, its curtains, Penlo talking, Skids leaving. Skids... Skids on a bike? Yes, Skids on a bike with me riding behind, holding tight. That had happened after the clinic. Yes, I had already woken in that bed. I had woken feeling well.

I did not feel at all well now. I could feel assorted aches across my body. Cuts and bruises. Had we crashed the bike?

The worst of the pain was in my face. That did not bode well.

I had been strapped down before. I was strapped down once more. But this was not the hive. I could not hear the foreign sounds of magery, but rather the familiar sounds of home. No, not home exactly. City sounds. Fewer animal calls, more hissing steam and clattering chains. I was within Forrester's Crossing proper, not a farm on the outskirts. Or perhaps a different city? I remembered passing back through Deepbloom and Exaltation. We had been in a hurry to get to Forrester's Crossing on our spinnerbikes. Spinnerbike... we had to stop the explosion.

The explosion...

I discovered a whole new low for my spirits to fall to as I remembered arriving at a city in flames. A city of peace and productive labour had been turned into a city of frantic men struggling to save lives, to pluck them from the inferno. I had gone in to find... a sister? Someone close to me, whose identity had not been firmly established. Probably Chalice, possibly not. I had gone looking for a sister but had found a man, who was already likely dead. And then...

Then...?

Then I had woken up here.

Some exploratory wiggling told me that I was not wearing my riding outfit, but a light cotton dress. The borrowed clothes had most likely been damaged during whatever event had injured me. It was far too much to hope that the fact that I had been wearing mage clothes had been at all obscured. Regardless, the ladder team had seen me quite clearly, so there was no chance of me avoiding being identified as an associate of darkness. On top of that, I had arrived minutes after an arcane artefact had detonated, after having last been seen with the owner of that same artefact. No cleric would fail to draw the obvious implications. Not even Cleric Quire would let me off for this.

I wanted to think that I had done no wrong. That I had meant no harm. Giving directions to Skids had been an innocent, helpful act. So had helping 'Mary' find the bakery. Jumping onto the train had not actually hurt anyone. Visiting the mage hive had been a desperate option when I would probably have died horribly otherwise, and that had not hurt anyone either. But the law was the law, regardless of results. Jumping onto the train was against the law, regardless of what ensued. Going to a place of concentrated magic was wrong, even though I had only been healed, not harmed. As far as I could tell. It might turn out that magical corruption was actually real, and I had helped spread it. Had I been wrong to trust Skids' word on that subject?

By the will of the Great Maker, the words of the Codex of Purity, and the teachings of the clerics, I had been wrong to trust Skids about anything, simply because dro was a mage. And whatever my intentions, people had been hurt. At least one had died, and there were certain to be more among those who had been performing the purification. The heat of the explosion, the force of the explosion, the impact of landing, the flying debris, the spray of molten metal, and then the fire and smoke, all of these could be deadly. I had to live with the knowledge that I had contributed to that, and I had utterly failed to prevent it, or to save anyone. But not for very long, I expected.

My fate did not concern me so much as my failure. According to my last clear memory, I had still been searching for a lost sister. For all the advantages my magical goggles had given me, I had failed to achieve anything useful. I remembered my claims of being able to help save people, and felt only shame at my misplaced boldness. But what had happened next? Had someone been forced to rescue me? Had my misplaced efforts only created more work for the rescue team, putting more lives in danger?

I felt sure that I deserved every bit of the pain I was experiencing. But lying here wallowing in my shame, pain, and self-recriminations was not doing me or anyone else any good. It was time to face reality. If I could. I could feel cloth touching my face, and with my wrists bound, I might not be able to uncover my eyes. My bout of intense inner reflection was just barely enough to keep myself from panicking at the thought of being trapped, unseeing.

"Prisoner, do you hear me?" The voice was muffled, distant. I could tell that the person speaking was not in the same room as me. I could also tell that it was an older man speaking. A cleric, obviously.

"I hear you," I said, making sure to speak loudly enough to be heard through whatever was covering my face. My jaw was unrestricted, which was a small blessing and relief. Being addressed as 'prisoner', less so.

"You are detained on charges of consorting with users of evil arts, aiding a user of evil arts, entering or remaining in a Pure settlement — multiple Pure settlements — after suspected exposure to the corruption of darkness, fleeing arrest by use of a dark steed, conspiracy to use evil arts against a Pure settlement, conspiracy to use evil arts against clerics, and accessory to murder, arson, and nightwalking. What do you have to say for yourself?" The voice was authoritative but otherwise mild. Unexcited. Routine.

I had to set the record straight, for what good it would do. "There was no conspiracy. No conspiring. I was trying to prevent the explosion. I was trying to save lives!" Honesty compelled me to continue. "But I did also climb a railway barrier yesterday, jump onto the roof of a moving railway consist, and travel two stops without paying a fare. And interfere with other passengers' luggage." I stopped to take a deep breath after getting all that out. As deep a breath as my bruises would allow, at least.

"Hmm," the cleric said, considering.

"Cleric — presuming I am addressing a cleric — may I ask how I came to be here? And what the current time is? And — begging your indulgence, of course — may I inquire as to the health of my family?" I said this with as much politeness and deference as I could muster. It was not as much as I felt was necessary, but it was hard to do better given my condition and position. Talking also exacerbated the intense pain in some parts of my face. Some parts were spared, but the lack of feeling there was an additional cause for alarm.

"You were pulled from the rubble after a sudden burst of fire utterly shattered the entire building you were in. Your survival and relative lack of severe burns is an anomaly, enabled only by the cursed nature of the dark garments you wore and similar blanket with which you draped yourself. That was yesterday. It is now approximately four hours after sunrise."

That made some sense. "And what of my family, cleric?" I asked, fearing the answer.

"I cannot speak as to their disposition."

Not knowing was worse than hearing the worst. That was possibly intentional. "And what is my fate, cleric?"

"Your crimes against the Great Maker and against the Pure are both numerous and irrefutable. Your fate is sealed. Purification will be carried out at noon. However, allowances will be made for your... attempt at preserving lives, however futile. You will bear punishment alone. Your kin will bear no guilt from your wrongs."

At that pronouncement, I seemed to be able to breathe more freely, even with the pain. The fear of bringing down judgement on my family for my wrongs had been the worst part of this, which I had hardly been able to even consider. Knowing that I had caused them no shame or loss — other than the inevitable — was a great relief.

"Additionally, due to your... status, you will receive some small comfort in your final hours. Namely, a final meal. You will not go to the Great Maker's judgement hungry."

I realised then that I was famished. That was to be expected after skipping multiple meals. "Cleric, how am I to eat, constrained as I am?"

"Your bonds will be loosened somewhat, once I depart," the cleric said. He sounded like he had grown bored of this conversation.

"I thank you, cleric. May the Great Maker bless you."

"Hmph." I had not really expected a 'Maker bless' in return, but it still stung.

I heard a heavy door open and close in the distance. The cleric was gone.

Wheels somewhere beneath the floor began to turn and chains rattled as they were unwound. I was not freed, but I had been given some freedom of movement. From the feel and the sound, I was secured by cloth-wrapped metal chains. They were far more secure than ropes, but a little less cold and bleak than bare chains.

I was able to sit up, which I did very gingerly. Ginger... there was little I would not give for a mug of ginger tea to soothe my aches and pains, but it was unlikely that the clerics had been that generous with my feeding.

There was enough slack in my wrist chains to finally feel what was on my face. My head was wrapped in bandages. These would have to come off before I could eat, or see what I was eating, or even begin to find my food. I set about this uncomfortable task with great care, so as to avoid aggravating my wounds by slapping myself with chains as I reached around myself to unwind the fabric.

At last I peeled back the final layer, and was relieved to feel the cool air on some of my skin. I tried gently blinking my eyes open, but only the left worked. Something still seemed to be covering the other. It was hard to tell, due to the numbness. But that did not matter right at that moment, as I could finally see!

I was in an unfamiliar room. It was smaller than my bedroom, with white walls that looked like stone or brick not wood. Light filtered in through windows covered in thick, sturdy wire mesh. The floor was white and smooth, apart from the circular holes my chains passed through from whatever mechanism below controlled their length. I had been laid on a folded blanket on a narrow bench, not an actual bed. A small wooden table stood beside the bench, just close enough that I would be able to reach it with one hand. Both pieces of furniture were bolted to the floor. A wooden platter sat on the table, bearing an assortment of simple food items. Beside it were a few wooden goblets. There was no sign of my handbag. It must have been confiscated with my mage outfit. Normally that would have upset me, but I was past caring about such things.

The room was square, and three walls were bare. The furthest wall from my bench had a sturdy metal door. The bolt, keyhole, and hinges were notably not visible or accessible from this side of the door. Whoever had built it definitely did not want anyone getting out. The cleric's muffled voice had been allowed into the room through a square window in the top of the door, which was both smaller than my head and covered with metal slats. These were angled so they could overlap without quite touching, so some air could pass through, but nothing much thicker than a sheet of paper. My bench was against the opposite wall, so I did not look in that direction until I had finished examining the rest of the room. The wall bore a mirror, in which I caught a glimpse of my puffy brown face. I snapped my gaze away from the repulsive sight of my injured visage, then winced at the resulting pain, then tried to relax instead of wincing at the additional pain from wincing.

This was no time to be squeamish, I told myself. I looked back at the mirror and faced the truth.

It was not quite as bad as I had feared, for the most part. There were a lot of swollen bruises, some of which accentuated my already large cheeks, and in general made my face look extra lopsided. My nose did not look as swollen as it felt, and was neither more nor less crooked than usual. It was also still longer than I felt should fit with the rest of my face, and lumpy, so it still rated as my third worst facial feature. My skin — which was usually smooth and clear — was now decorated with some cuts which had scabbed over, plus a few burn marks. A large section of the right side of my hair had been hacked away, presumably burnt. My left eyebrow appeared less sparse than usual, but only because it was matted with blood from a cut directly above it. My lower lip was split and badly swollen. I had sometimes wondered what I would look like if my lips were not so thin. This was not how I would have wanted to find out. My chin was unharmed, and as distractingly pointy as ever.

All in all, it still looked quite bad, but only superficially. Nothing looked terribly broken or caved in or perforated. Except...

I also saw why I could not see as much as I ought to: a black patch covered my right eye. A leather strap held it in place.

Carefully, I lifted the patch to see what was wrong.

I did not have to worry about opening that eye, as the eyelid appeared to be stuck open. I would have concluded that was the reason for the patch, if not for what I saw below. A glassy orb stared back at me, unseeing.

No. This could not be. I tried to cling to disbelief, but I could not escape what I was seeing, and what I was not seeing.

Ever so slowly, I moved a finger closer to the eye. Glass.

Some minutes later, I awkwardly wiped the stinging tears away from my remaining eye and left cheek, staining the sleeve of the white cotton dress I had been put in.

So, I would not merely die bruised, but marred. Half-blinded, not even fully seeing the Maker's world as it was. The glass eye was a mockery, an insult. A holy gift, wholy useless. A transparent covering for a terrible wound. In complete contrast, the left eye was as perfect as ever. I leaned close to the mirror so the eye could see only itself. Under the reduced indoor lighting, I could barely tell where the black pupil ended and the brown iris began. Regardless, it was still mine, and was still comfortingly familiar and beautiful. The same was true of the undamaged parts of my almost-as-dark skin. My particular shade was shared with much of the Wilison family and many residents of Forrester's Crossing and the other Pure cities, though it was a little darker than average. The rich brown always reminded me of the best freshly-turned soil, which turned my mind to thoughts of potential growth and prosperity. Such concepts seemed distant now, more distant than the ocean or whatever lay beyond.

I was getting all poetical again. Chalice would gently tease me about that, if she knew. Chalice. I had to know if she was the one who had been trapped in the burning building. If she had found her own way out, or... or...

I had to know. But first, food. I couldn't deal with this on an empty stomach for any longer. I was hungry enough that the half-sight of my marred face had not put me off my food. With uncouth speed, I devoured half the platter. A slice of thinly buttered stale bread and hastily chopped, wilted garden vegetables vanished, followed by some cubes of cold, overcooked chicken and uncomfortably hard cheese. Delicious to the last fragment.

I saved a whole apple and two more slices of bread for later, and a hard-boiled egg for never. I had disliked them ever since an incident when I was very young, involving Chalice stuffing two into her mouth at the same time and then chewing with her mouth open. Ironically, my avoidance of eggs just meant more for her, and more opportunities for her to tease me. I hoped that she was still alive and able to eat all the eggs she wanted. I would endure any amount of sisterly teasing to see her safe. Not knowing was slowly killing me inside.

I rinsed my meal down with some cautious sips of water from one of the five goblets. I wondered why they didn't leave me just one and a jug. Perhaps making me pour water with my wrists shackled was too cruel? I wasn't about to ask, not about that.

"Hello? Hey!" There had to be a guard within earshot. "Hey! Heyyy!"

"Quiet in there, prisoner!" Aha! I did indeed have a guard, and she had made the mistake of letting me know she could hear me.

"No!"

"No?" She sounded perplexed.

"I won't be quiet!"

"Yes, you will!"

"No I won't, and you can't make me!" I had heard Chadwick and Chester argue with each other enough times to know how to do this effectively.

"I... Silence!"

"Never!"

"Please stop yelling!"

"Nooooo!"

"Don't make me come in there!"

"I bet you're not allowed to. You don't even have a key!" I had no idea whether that was true, but I hoped it would be an effective taunt.

"You better not test me, or you'll regret it!"

"I have much bigger things to regret, and not much time to regret it for!" I yelled back. It was not a pleasant truth, but it was still a useful tool in this ridiculous argument. To underscore my argument, I picked up the apple and threw it at the door's ventilation slats. In spite of my impacted sight, bruises, and restraints, it actually hit, and most of it bounced off with a wet squishing sound. It rolled back just far enough that I could pick it back up, leaving a damp trail behind it.

"I can still make this much worse for you!"

"So can I! I might start singing. Or chanting. Or I can throw my food again. Unless..."

"Unless?" Ha, I had her!

"I need to know a couple of things. That's all. Just answer me three questions and I will be on my best behaviour. No more nuisance or mess."

"Two questions."

I realised I should have asked for four. But I didn't want to push her any further. Two would do. "Deal. I... I heard that one of my sisters found the, uh, 'dark steed', and so was watching from the blacksmith's upper window when the explosion occurred. Who was it?"

"It was Chalice."

No! The answer pierced my heart like a crossbow bolt. Not Chalice! Not that losing any other sister was anything but terrible. But knowing for sure... I had thought that not knowing was worse. It wasn't, it was merely painful in a different way. But there was still a fragment of hope left. "Did... Is she...?"

"She did not escape, and was inside when... when it got really bad. No one could have survived that. No one should have, I mean. You only had a chance because of... forbidden items. Your sister is definitely gone. I am sorry for your..."

I didn't hear the rest, only my pulse pumping angrily. The apple flew out of my hand, and I realised that I had hurled it at my food tray. Three goblets went tumbling, emptying their contents across the floor. The egg went somewhere. I didn't see where. It was probably cracked, but I didn't care. That was somebody else's problem now. I did not look back at what remained. I could not see past my grief. My single eye was useless under a wave of tears. I curled into a ball on my pitiful blanket on my lonely little bench — as much as the chains would let me — and waited. I waited for fate and justice to overtake me.

This was the end of the line.