“Dearest, speak to us, dearest.”
“Yes, speak to us. The lies will fester and their humours will ferment”
“Speak to us.”
“Speak, dearest.”
“Your lies hurt us, but we will still help you.”
Miloje could not open his eyes. He could not bring his hands up to feel them, though he knew they would be raw and taught. His ear was gone and had shut from the humours escaping. The lies were preventing him from hearing the truth, the priests were right, and they crowded around his good and still faithful ear.
“There is time… to make things right… Tell us and free yourself from this burden.”
“…still time”
“…why do you hurt us?”
They couldn’t save him, he no longer knew any truths.
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