“Well, it’s certainly not a blessing,” said Ezra. “What else could you call it?” Immanuelle thought back to the cathedral, to the stained-glass window that depicted the Mother’s legions being burned and slain. She thought of the muzzled girl, chained to the market stocks. She thought of jeering crowds and flaming pyres. She thought of Leah lying prone on the altar, blood pooling in the hollows of her ears, a blade at her brow. She thought of young girls married off to men old enough to be their grandfathers. She thought of starved beggars from the Outskirts squatting by the roadside with their
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