"Inferno"

Bleating. babbling.

The beast wriggles in pain. its attempts are fruitless as the bindings around it are tied well and tight. The most it can do is flex a muscle beneath the ropes as Drusa taps her gladius on the floor.

Ting! Ting! Ting!

its breath hitches with every hit. its eyes dart wildly across the room, desperate to set themselves upon anything other than the platinum halo above her head or the ash wings splayed behind her back. But then, the crucifixes and ichthyses spread across the wall behind her don't make a more pleasant sight.

And behind, Olga's whispers in Greek only add to the torment. Whispers of God's grace and Christ's sacrifice. Of righteous wrath and dignant punishments.

"Olga," Drusa says from beneath her hood, "How much longer will you be?"

Olga's only response is further prayer. Drusa clicks her tongue.

"Fine, then," says Drusa. She crosses her legs and taps her blade against the chair.

Ting, ting, ting, ting...

The clanks are more rapid now. Will Olga ever finish? Each prayer leads into the next, their endings serving only as segues into more words of God. More thanks to Christ. More glory to the Holy Spirit. And, of course, veneration of Theotokos.

"Amēn," she says at last.

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