Alone in the ballroom of his ancestral home, Gregor Dandolo listened to the screams of the ancient black thing trapped in the stone, and the booming pronunciations of the glimmering terror mere yards ahead—and yet, all was quiet in his mind. For one instant, I was myself, he thought. He picked up the little tab of bronze between his index and forefinger. I was free. With his other hand he touched his brow, remembering the ghost of his mother’s kiss, and how desperately she’d held him. Yet now, I willingly give myself away. He placed the bronze tab at the back of his throat, and swallowed.
