And I will not leave you until...

Mateusz walked over to the wall and, leaning against the dusty shelves, peered out the basement window. Natalia had gone shopping; her car had just disappeared around the bend. For a few more seconds, the burgundy bodywork gleamed between the trees. When the forest regained its solitude, Mateusz cautiously moved away from the window. He was alone. He rubbed his hands together. He cast a final, inspecting glance down the narrow path. Empty. So she hadn't forgotten anything. The next two hours would belong only to him.

He turned on the light. The small bulb, hanging forlornly from the ceiling, glowed with a dim light, covering the basement with a tangle of shadows. The air was dry and musty. Mateusz seemed oblivious. He whistled his favorite tune: the theme from "Apocalypse Now," and began to tidy up.

He had thrown out the boxes from the television and stereo a week earlier. Now he began dismantling some of the shelves. They didn't fit his concept, his plan, conceived long ago; so absurd it was practically real.

He smiled at his memories. It wasn't easy. Money was the barrier, of course, but not the only one. He'd been saving for over a year and a half, set up a special account, and since—as it turned out—he was capable of denying himself many worldly pleasures, the issue of necessary funds faded into the background.

All he had to do was convince Natalia.

As an emancipated, liberated feminist, Natalia believed wholeheartedly in equal rights. But she was also an intellectual, a woman who loved inventing new interpretations, so shortly after their wedding (which Mateusz, by the way, didn't remember; after a serious accident, he'd completely lost his memory), she implemented the Modern Marriage Idea. Theoretically, it was supposed to transform their earthly home into a nest of endless love. Practically... well. It left him very little freedom. And even less money. He resigned himself to this unpleasant fact, not wanting to hurt his wife, who meant everything to him.

For the same reason, he decided not to reveal his plan.

Everything would be ready soon. Then he would buy a bouquet of the most beautiful roses in town and invite her to dinner. He would slowly explain everything, from the very beginning, starting with innocent statements like "Everyone can have their own dreams. Dreams are beautiful, right, Natalka?", moving on to sad glances and sighs, and finally to an attack on her worried face ("What happened, darling?"). Of course, he wouldn't do without compliments ("Little Flower," "Sunbeam," "Frog," and best of all, "Queen"—she absolutely loved it when he called her that).

Another shelf ripped from the wall with a crash. He tossed it onto a pile of boards and wiped the sweat from his brow. There was still a lot of work ahead of him. He had to dismantle the cabinets, vacuum the floor, run the cables...

Dust and mustiness, for now, he thought. But I'll turn this basement into a billiards room.

His imagination conjured the outline of a table from his mind, placed it right next to him, within reach. He began to daydream. Here, a table, fragrant with wood, covered in a perfectly smooth green cloth; there, against the wall, a rack of cues, but exclusive, top-shelf ones. In the corner, a bar and a barrel of Żywiec, always full. He closed his eyes. His inner gaze slid with delight over the crystal glasses; Mateusz picked up the cue, weighed it in his hand, approached the table, respectfully assessing the triangle of colored balls. He took aim, listening to the delicate jazz. He struck. Perfectly, of course. And so it went, for entire evenings...

He opened his eyes. Dreams are dreams, but first, smash that shelf, he thought, approaching the cabinet that had until recently held jars of honey and jam.

Half an hour later, a monumental pile of boards, doors, hasps, and handles was piled high in the middle of the basement. Mateusz was breathing heavily. He'd have to take a bath before Natalia returned. He sank onto a wooden stool and dusted his hands. He surveyed the nearly empty basement with satisfaction. Suddenly, his gaze caught a disturbing detail.

"What's wrong?"

He struggled to his feet and walked over to the corner where, just a few minutes earlier, a cabinet, crumbling with age, had stood. A palm-sized hole in the floor revealed a palm-sized hole.

Mateusz thought he saw a shape looming within it. He overcame his reluctance, mixed with disgust (what could be lurking in such a hole? Spiders? Worms?) and plunged his hand into the tarry void. For a few seconds, his fingers groped helplessly, and he was about to withdraw his hand when he encountered something hard. Hard and smooth... It felt like glass. He pulled it out and sat on the floor. In the light of the dirty bulb, he examined the dusty jar.

There was something inside.

Written pages.

He returned to the rickety stool and began reading. The densely written pages were a diary of sorts:

"March 11th.

My name is Albert.

I've been stuck here for four days, or so the guys say. I decided to write down everything that happened to me. So here it is: It all started with a train. There was a damn cold wind blowing when..."

*

The train started. Albert began another chapter of his journey. Since the day he lost his parents, he had already visited Warsaw, Łódź, and Wrocław. Now he was heading north. The world had lost all color for him, becoming disgustingly dry and cruel. The dean wouldn't hear of him resigning from his studies, giving him a leave of absence until the end of the academic year and ordering him to return in October. In this situation, Albert could only shrug and leave. Seeking peace, he wandered around Poland. His parents had left him a considerable fortune, many, many banknotes, but he would have given them all, down to the last penny, for just one day of good old normality: an evening, dry mugs in the living room, and... His mother scolding his father, his father smiling, mumbling apologies, words—formulas for feelings. Even just a few hours... Watching television together, silently, some stupid game show (his father would surely know the answer to every question, always did). A warm "goodnight" as his mother closed the bedroom door.

He bit his lip. He'd already shed too many tears, and they hadn't changed anything.

He sat alone in the compartment. He pressed himself against the window and watched the scenery drift by. Just a few days ago, the world had been blanketed in a blanket of white fluff. Now everything had returned to its monochromatic standard.

He didn't know when he'd fallen asleep. Suddenly, he woke up and realized he was no longer alone.

"Hi," the girl said, smiling.

"Hi..." he replied, his lips curling in a disingenuous parody of a smile.

The girl was downright stunning...

Unbeautiful.

If blandness could be clothed in form, this is exactly what she would look like, he thought bitterly. Ordinary hair on an ordinary face, falling over ordinary shoulders, and an average figure. A baggy sweater. His traveling companion was the antithesis of beauty; there was absolutely nothing attractive about her. Albert was surprised, for he considered himself—at least until recently—a connoisseur of feminine charm, someone who could find an element of divine genius in even the most hideous of creatures. The girl sitting opposite was an exception. In a split second, he surveyed her entire body. He tried to force his sleepy mind into even the slightest reflex of fascination.

It didn't work. He realized with dismay that the radiator, which, incidentally, was burning his feet, seemed more appealing.

The gray-blonde pointed to a bar of chocolate lying on a small table by the window. He noticed the cracked skin on her fingers and the bitten nails. At the last moment, he stifled a groan.

"How about some chocolate?

" "No, thanks...

" "Would you like some?"

He noticed a tear forming. After a moment, a crystalline droplet began its journey down the girl's bony face. "Damn, she noticed that..." he thought. How was he supposed to get out of this absurd situation? Despite everything, he didn't want to hurt her.

He reached for the chocolate.

"Thank you," he said, chewing a bitter bar.

The chocolate had a strange, metallic aftertaste. "Expired?" he wondered.

Five seconds later, dark, swirling flakes appeared before his eyes. The last thing he saw before losing consciousness was the girl's strangely focused face.

*

He felt the cold stone floor against his back. A shiver ran through him.

"Hey, Michał, I think he's awake," a voice said from the damp darkness.

"Finally."

Albert pushed himself up onto his elbows. After a moment, the flame of a lighter flickered next to his face. Three people were watching him curiously.

"I'm Michał, and these are Bartek and Adam. If you're wondering how you got here, welcome to the club," the stranger offered him his hand.

The room was full of dancing shadows, cast by the figures of three boys, all in their twenties, leaning over Albert. The flickering light carved an image of the rough, brick walls from the darkness. Albert's gaze searched in vain, searching for a window. The only exit from the room was a solid, metal-reinforced door.

"Where am I?

" "We have no idea," Michał replied, then helped him to his feet.

Albert dusted off his clothes. He eyed his new friends warily. Except for Michał, a brunette with sharp eyes, they looked as if they were about to burst into tears. Adam, muttering "hello," shuffled to one of the walls, collapsed to the ground, and buried his face in his hands. Bartek was still standing next to Michał, studying his new occupant intently.

"What do you remember?"

Albert struggled to recall the train journey. What did he remember? Sitting in the compartment alone, having strange dreams, and…

"A girl," he whispered.

"What did she look like?"

Michał's voice trembled slightly, at odds with the calm and composed expression on the boy's face. Albert felt himself becoming a participant in events he certainly didn't like. Everything around him: the darkness, the basement, Adam's gesture, that note of vibrating fear—all of it combined to create a picture of complete madness.

"Where am I?" he repeated.

"I already told you, we don't know. What did the girl look like? That might be important, remember.

" "She... Hmm. A gray mouse, nothing special. You could even say she was ugly."

Adam snorted from the corner. Bartek lowered his gaze and sighed softly. Michał's features hardened. He flicked off the lighter.

"We have to save gas," he said.

"Will I finally find out what's going on?!

"

"And I finally found out. The guys had been stuck here for three days. Each of them traveled by train, each alone in their compartment after sunset. They finally fell asleep, how long can you keep sleep at bay? They woke up in the company of a girl. THAT girl.

Adam mentally called her 'potato,' Bartek 'pâté,' Michał merely stated that she was 'simply awfully ugly.' She offered chocolate. And everyone agreed, so as not to upset her! Adam said he noticed a strange glint in her eye. 'That's how you can look at a juicy apple when you're terribly thirsty,' he said. The guy's alright, it's just a shame he's a poet. He constantly sits in the corner, muttering under his breath. Not like Michał. At least Michał is thinking of a way out of this... prison. Maybe together we can come up with something.

They say he brings them meals once a day. He slides the tray through a small hole in the door. What if..."

*

"What if we try to catch her while she's slipping us food? Maybe she keeps the key somewhere in her pocket, and then..." Albert asked.

"Shh. She can hear everything.

" "What do you think?"

Michał nodded.

"It won't come out. The opening is too narrow.

" "What do you mean, it won't come out? Adam, Adam!" he nudged his friend. "Get up, show me your hand."

Adam waved his hand in front of his eyes, then turned over and snored again. Albert, undeterred, grabbed his arm. He whistled softly.

"Michał, don't talk, his hand will definitely fit.

" "Show me."

Using a lighter, they carefully analyzed Adam's options. He, ignoring their arguments, muttered mysterious adorations in his sleep to a certain Natalka. Finally, Michał was convinced.

"Now wake him up, according to my watch, it's almost six. He usually comes at this time." "Oh .

Maybe someone could help me?" Albert gasped, trying to wake his friend. Despite their attempts, blissful snoring continued to echo off the cold walls. After several minutes of various manipulations, they finally managed to wake up their friend enough to acquaint him with the plan.

"So? Should I stick my hand in that hole? What if that horde has a knife and, panicked, cuts my fingers?

" "There's no knife," Michał replied.

"How can I be so sure?"

"Listen. There's no knife because... Think logically. There are plastic containers on the tray. No cutlery, you said so yourself. The tray weighs a lot, it's certainly not light. Can you imagine: it's bending under that damn tray, and it's also holding a knife up its sleeve, and in a way that I can quickly pull it out if necessary?" Think about it.

"Okay, but this is the first and last time. We'll either have a joint We Are The Champions or my own personal Requiem. How can that be?" do? Just stick your paw in when he opens the flap?

"Aha," Michael confirmed. "Hit her, but no, don't hit her. Hmm..." he mused. "Try to grab her with one hand and search her pockets with the other. We think she has a key on her.

" "Okay. What if she doesn't?

" "She does. She has to."

*

"And so we waited. Adam lay in wait, glued to the door, and we stood a meter away to help him if necessary. Then, for the first time, I heard the noise coming from above. It sounded like a cacophony of... whispers. It bored into our heads, making it incredibly difficult to concentrate. But we didn't care; we waited for HER.

After endless minutes of waiting, we heard footsteps. Slow, laborious, clearly Michał was right. At some point, they stopped, and we held our breath. Was she listening? Perhaps. After a few seconds, she approached the door. We heard the jingle of keys... Yes! Keys! My heart was pounding like crazy.

The whispers were getting louder. I couldn't tell if they reached our ears or went directly to our minds.

Immersed in absolute darkness, we waited for Adam's action. I unconsciously clenched my fists. Our fate lay in the hands of a frail blond – a poet who was probably He'd never done more than ten push-ups in a row in his life, and even then he'd been panting like a Soviet locomotive for half a day.

The bolt grated. Cold, pale light poured into the dungeon through the narrow opening .

"Adam! Now!" I screamed in my mind.

*

The corner of a tray appeared in the small opening. Someone groaned.

Adam's hand shot out toward him. A dull sound shattered the silence as plastic dishes hit the floor on the other side of the massive door. Albert heard the girl's voice for the second time; this time it was decidedly less pleasant.

"Adam! Now!" Michał shouted.

A struggle began for several seconds. The sound of tearing fabric pierced the air filled with screams. Albert ran to the door. He saw his friend's hand tugging at the horpyna's pants.

It seemed to him that something flashed in the opening. The keys, he'd made it, he had the keys, he thought. For a moment, he savored the feeling of victory. Hope revived...

Adam screamed. It was a different scream, terrifying and organic, as if the boy had thrown a chunk of flesh out with the sound. He fell to the ground. The flap snapped back into place.

"What's wrong with you? Adam!"

Michał lit the lighter. The flickering flame illuminated the figure of the fallen man. Adam held his bleeding hand.

"She cut me. And yet... She had a knife, that witch had a knife," he moaned.

Everyone remained silent.

Albert chewed on the bitter lump of disappointment. So it had failed. The whole plan had gone to hell, and there was no telling how the horpyna would react to their attempt. He didn't know what to expect. With each passing second, he felt worse and worse. Hope? What hope? They'd rot here, and that was that.

"And there won't be any dinner," Bartek sighed.

*

"That damn noise hadn't stopped at all. It had gotten louder.

Adam needed attention. Fortunately, the wound didn't look serious, just a minor scratch. Bartek disposed of one of the tissues, and a makeshift dressing did the trick.

We sat down in a circle."

*

"Why are we here?" Bartek asked.

"Maybe you can tell us," Michał replied.

"Thanks. What could she possibly want from us? Money? We haven't lost anything. Ransom? But... I already told you, my parents..."

Albert flinched.

"What: your parents?

" "They're dead," Bartek replied after a moment's hesitation. "They died two years ago. I live in a student residence, I have no one, and if anything happens, no one will pay a penny for me," he laughed unconvinced.

Michał sighed heavily.

"My parents got divorced. I haven't seen them in almost three years. My mother went to France, and my father? He's in prison somewhere in eastern Poland." I don't even know where...'

He stopped suddenly.

'Albert?

' 'What?

' 'And yours?

' 'They died... Less than a month ago.

' *

'Then we understood. Besides our age, we had something else in common: neither of us had any family. All we had to do was wake Adam up, find out what had happened to him. I silently prayed for him to wake up and disprove our theory with a single sentence: 'Mine are alive and well, but what?' I'd breathe a sigh of relief. Really.

Why? In the case of two people, such a coincidence might have been accepted without much surprise. In the case of three... Well. It would still probably be within the realm of possibility. But – four? Four men from different parts of the country, previously unknown to each other, are lulled into sleep and kidnapped by some mentally ill girl, and, it turns out, they're all orphans? There's some incomprehensible horror lurking in that possibility, a possibility I'm afraid to even think about. Indeed, Bartek was right. Ransom was out of the question. So what?

What?

That question tormented us all. First, we had to confirm (or disprove) our theory. We set about waking Adam. *

"

Wake up! Wake up, damn it!"

But tearing at his clothes was to no avail.

"What's the matter? A dead man would wake up," Bartek said, and without thinking, he slapped Adam across the face. Not lightly.

"What are you doing!" "Michał shouted, but the last syllable that escaped his lips was a long, quiet "shhsh," because even such a brutal method didn't bring Adam back to consciousness.

"Gentlemen, something's not right here," Albert said. "Light the lighter."

"We were supposed to save gas."

"Light it, Michał." His voice was cold and dry.

Michał, who until then had felt like the leader of their peculiar band, this time found no motivation to protest.

A faint flame illuminated the face of the fallen man. Adam's lips were covered with a purple residue. His features were frozen in a paroxysm of pain, and his glassy eyes stared at the ceiling with an unseeing gaze.

They froze.

Someone screamed. The lighter flickered one last time and went out, plunging them back into the cold, damp darkness. Michał began to tug at Adam, his voice blurting out incomprehensible words. Albert fell to the ground, feeling that life was over for him. He heard the gestures and words of his friends, but his mind, gripped by the cold snares of panic, already knew the rest of the story. He knew they wouldn't wake him.

He moved as far away as he could, burying himself in a corner, and fell into a stupor. All voices seemed to come from behind the thick wall, all thoughts vanished, leaving behind only a gaping, black void.

*

"I don't know how long I sat there like that. A few minutes? An hour? Half a day? At some point I must have fallen asleep. When I woke up, I noticed the light. It was Michał who had found a candle in one of the boxes. He swore it hadn't been there before. Just like the matches. Does it come here when we sleep?

We covered Adam with some rags. His eyes were always open. It looked eerie, as if he saw and heard everything, yet couldn't react.

We found a pen and a notebook in his bag. That's when I started writing this diary.

We didn't speak to each other. Each of us sat in our own corner.

Lighting a candle in such a situation seemed pointless. Why would we need a light if it only brought up images of terror? We preferred to cower in the darkness.

It didn't matter to us.

Later, at night, Adam suddenly jerked awake on his makeshift bed. He coughed several times, kicked his legs, and stopped breathing."

*

Darkness and Whispers

Albert woke from his stupor and listened to their melody. They were like singing, coming from above and below, from all directions at once, omnipresent. He tried to make out the individual words, but the sounds flowed in too many layers at once. He noticed that listening to their rhythm had a calming effect. He closed his eyes. They surrounded him in a multicolored wave; he perceived them not only through his hearing; he felt himself absorbing them through his skin, through every breath and every thought. He smiled for the first time in days. Bliss... He lay against the wall and breathed in this mystical melody, absorbing it greedily, accepting every whisper and every tremor with open arms, surrendering to it willingly and fearlessly. He felt he was finding his destiny, approaching a resolution, and it was infinitely wonderful and sweet. A meadow blossomed before his eyes. He inhaled deeply of its lush scent. For a split second, his sense of sight rebelled, telling him there was no meadow, only the damp world of the basement, but Albert stifled these absurd insinuations, surrendering himself entirely, sacrificing every fiber of his being and personality, for those whispers were so wonderful...

A nudge.

"Albert, are you alive?" Michał asked.

"What?

" "Albert, what's happening to us?

" "What's going on? Can't I just get some sleep? Can't I, like, get a little bit of oblivion in this damn hole? You always have some kind of axe to grind against me?!

" For a moment, I felt something I didn't like, something I really didn't like...

"What?" Albert snorted.

"I remembered the train ride, the girl... And... I don't know how to say this. It's terribly stupid.

" "If it's stupid, don't say it," Albert cut in and turned his back.

"You don't understand. I felt that... Albert... I fell in love with her."

*

"That was too much.

Especially since Bartek said the same thing."

*

"What?! 'Pâté', 'potato', am I remembering correctly? That's what you called her. And now? No, guys, tell me you're kidding. I'm begging you. Or better yet, keep quiet. Just don't whisper to each other about how wonderful she is, don't whisper," he emphasized.

The flame of the dying candle illuminated the astonished faces of Michał and Bartek.

"You must be crazy. What do we have here: a damn dungeon or Stockholm syndrome? Tell me again that your number one dream is to rot here, waiting to hear her footsteps on the stairs, or... Her whisper, I don't know, anything, whispers...

" "Albert?

" "What? I've had enough! I want to get out of here! If you have other plans, maybe you'll tell me?

" "We don't have other plans," Bartek said calmly.

"I see... You know what?" You're all fucking pathetic. I'm so sick of you, you know that?!

"Quiet..." Michael hissed. Footsteps echoed from behind the door.

"I won't..." Albert began, then froze.

They heard the scrape of a key turning. The door opened. The girl leaned against the doorframe and calmly scanned them. They couldn't move; even breathing was difficult. Something wrapped around their limbs and forced them to remain obediently in their places. Besides... Movement seemed so... inappropriate. It could dispel the spell, the aura that spread over them like a revitalizing mist. The girl's gaze slid over their petrified faces.

"Sweet dreams," she said.

They fell asleep.

*

"Dreams—those fragile mosaics, images of a confluence of worlds.

I love them.

The poetry of the visions that swirled before my eyes was infinite. I now know what Eva felt as she picked the apple."

*

The darkness vanished, replaced by the warm light of hundreds of candles.

They sat in a triangle—each in a corner, surrounded by a circle of flames. Their hands and feet were chained to the floor.

Albert swayed, captivated by the wondrous melody of whispers that reached their peak of power, their brilliance in this place. He tasted the salty taste of blood in his mouth, but he couldn't spit it out; he felt as if some powerful force had laced his lips. He could only utter soft moans. He glanced around at his companions. Michał gazed reverently at the girl, standing motionless in the center. Myriad shadows danced across her body. Bartek had one eye closed, and glassy tears streamed from the other. He jerked several times in his bonds, but they remained relentless.

Albert couldn't remember what he was doing there. He tried to dredge up the events of the last few days, but every time he reached out to those impenetrable lands, he felt the whispers nearly tearing his head apart. He gave up. He listened to their tart sweetness.

Questions...

Why are we here?

What are we doing here?

Why now?

Why why?

Foraaa...

...were stifled.

The three boys' thoughts began to flow along the same path. The girl smiled even wider.

A snake's smile, a snake's smile, Albert thought, before the last shred of his free will exploded, crushed by the omnipresent whispers.

*

"The ritual was necessary for me to understand many things."

*

Footsteps. Right next to his face.

A wasp. Flowers bowing to the wind in a meadow filled with sunlight. A prick of a finger.

Blood. The juice of life, the highest initiation. The final frontier.

A chalice. Heat emanating from it. Fiery reflections playing in.

A girl.

A smile.

A girl.

Blood.

They drank.

*

"Ambrosia! Oh, divine nectar! When I touched your revitalizing power with my lips, a thrill of supreme ecstasy shot through me. All the moments and feelings of this world, all my worries and anxieties, vanished, absorbed by the miracle of my rebirth."

*

Drop by drop. They drip onto the floor. Lips hungrily parted. They whimper, begging for more.

*

"I understood.

She could belong to only one of us. Only one could receive this infinite sweetness as a gift."

*

Albert opened his eyes. He uncrossed his fingers. The shackles fell, crashing to the marble floor with a crunch. He stood up. Michał and Bartek did the same. He saw their faces, full of delight and adoration.

Only they stood in his way now.

Only they could crush his most secret desire, which had been born with him, to accompany him every second from then on. He knew that whenever he closed his eyes, he would see images of peace and happiness, eternal bliss in the arms of his beloved, his Queen, his Beatrice, his guide, the one who, with a mysterious smile, had opened for him the gates to divine lands. Albert clenched his fists. In the face of his greatest dream, he had to forget rules and norms, cast aside alliances and friendships, for the reward was worth everything. Now. Right here. He would finally take matters into his own hands; this would be his first truly manly decision.

Take this, he heard.

A short knife appeared in his hand. Flames danced on the smooth blade. Albert narrowed his eyes and jumped.

*

"Now that it's all over, I'd love to burn all those pathetic words. I feel great. In fact, I... I've never felt better.

She'll be here soon.

We'll start a new life.

It was worth fighting for..."

*

A short, underhanded blow. A crunch. A sickening, sweet sound as he yanked the knife from the falling body. A crimson puddle bloomed at his feet. Very, very good. One down. Now Mar... Mariusz, Marcin? What was his name? Never mind.

Albert looked Michał straight in the eye. They both thought at the same time of some train, some girl on it... But the memory faded faster than a snuffed flame.

"No... Whisper," Albert said.

"I won't.

Jump." They locked in an embrace, forming a living, seething mass. Albert waved the knife, waiting only to feel the wonderful softness of flesh yielding beneath the blade. He was so close to his goal now.

They rolled over the burnt-out candles, their bodies often burned by the lone flame. At one point, Albert swung so miserably that Michał easily parried the blow, and what's more, knocked his weapon away. The blade flickered a few meters away, at the feet of the girl who was watching their fight intently.

"Don't disappoint me," Albert heard.

He felt a hot wave of shame wash over him. He had been stripped of his weapon. Part of his mind screamed that he should retreat and, whimpering, hide in the shadow of his chosen one, begging for forgiveness for the rest of his life.

No, he thought. Not yet. One more chance.

The candle flame licked the leg of his pants. It caught almost immediately. But he, ignoring the heat burning his calves, once again prepared to spring. He lunged at Michał. He managed to knock him down. He knelt, pinned the hated arms to the ground, and slammed them into his face. Once, twice, three times. He struck blindly, each blow pouring the full force of a fury that ignited his very being. After a few blows, the body beneath him went limp. Albert thought he heard a groan, but it was immediately drowned out by whispers. Overjoyed, he looked at his Queen. She was smiling. Tilting her head slightly, she regarded him intently. Had he finally earned his reward? Had all the pain finally ended? Something twitched beneath his calves. Michael's bloody lips moved, he... It... It wanted to say something. "No! No!" Albert shouted. "He would not allow this sacred moment to be sullied!" He struck again, powerfully, with a force. His neck snapped like a burnt match.

Albert stood up. Wax from the overturned candle mingled with the blood.

Step by step, he approached his beloved. The whispers faded, blissful silence enveloped him. He knew the nightmares were over; from now on, he would live in peace and prosperity, forever at the side of his only beloved.

*

"Next to me stands a jar. A few steps away, there's a hole in the floor. He's already discovered it... Hmm. I had to discover it myself. Before I hide the jar inside, after placing these pages inside, I must mention one more thing."

*

"Come here, my only one," she said.

Albert's heart was beating wildly. With each step, he felt more and more intimidated by the girl's beauty, her subtle, majestic allure. In a moment, in a moment, he thought.

She held out her hand. He took it gently, like the most precious crystal.

"Now you are mine."

He bowed.

"I give you a new name." From now on, your name is...

*

"She baptized me.

It was wonderful. Albert was no more, I died for that world. I was reborn as...

Mateusz."

*

The written pages fell to the basement floor with a quiet rustle.