The blood spatters her face and that pretty blonde hair slips out of their braids, the tips tinged dark red. She pulls out the knife and lets it fall to the floor.

To Lucrezia's mind, there is no more hope. As sheltered as she might be when it comes to other matters, death dwells close to her, her family. She knows a mortal wound when she sees one. There are no miracles here, even in a magical castle or the arms of the Pope's daughter. Even the Vicar of Rome can't pray for miracles to save his favored son, so where does that leave the rest of them?

She cradles her friend by the base of her head, as she would hold her own child, her other arm wrapped about her body to keep her warm. They say it is coldest before the end. Perhaps it's true. There are some here who have returned to tell the tale.

"Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine," she finds she can recall the entire passage: Te decet hymnus Deus in Sion et tibi reddetur votum in Ierusalem exaudi orationem meam ad te omnis caro veniet. But the words feel distant. They are cold and meaningless and she wonders how much comfort it would give Cass if she doesn't even understand the words. She holds Cass tighter to compensate, kissing her forehead again and again. She can think of little else to say (not I'm sorry, never that).

"Libera me, Domine, de morte aeterna." She hopes her prayers prove unnecessary.