You wake with the taste of rust in your mouth.

It is a bad taste. Metal. Old blood. You spit it out. It hits the stone floor. A dark spot. You ignore it.

The cell is cold.

Not the cold of winter. Not the cold of death. It is a dry cold. A hungry cold. It eats the warmth from your bones. You shiver. You wrap your coat tighter. The coat is thin. It is made of wool. It smells of dampness and smoke.

You are a captain.

Or you were.

Now you are a prisoner.

The walls are high. They are made of grey stone. Moss grows in the cracks. The moss is green. It is the only living thing here. You look at it. You hate it. It grows while you rot.

There is a door. It is iron. It is heavy. It has a small window. A slit. Light comes through the slit. It is thin. It is pale. It cuts across the floor like a blade.

You lie down.

You do not sleep.

You remember.

You remember the forest.

The trees were tall. They were dark. The sky was hidden. You walked. You marched. Your boots were heavy. The mud pulled at your feet. It was a trap.

You were looking for the witch.

The people in the village said she was there. They said she stole the milk. They said she cursed the cattle. They said she whispered in the wind. You did not care about the milk. You did not care about the cattle. You cared about the order. The law. The peace.

The witch was a rumor. A story. A fear.

But you had to find her.

You walked for days. You ate hard bread. You drank from streams. The water was cold. It was clear. It tasted of stone.

You found her.

She was in a hut. It was made of wood. It was old. It leaned to one side. The roof was thatch. It was black with age.

She was inside.

She was old. Her hair was white. It was long. It fell to the floor. Her eyes were blue. They were bright. They were like ice.

She did not run.

She did not scream.

She sat by the fire. The fire was small. It crackled. It popped. It gave off a smell. It smelled of herbs. It smelled of life.

You kicked the door open.

The door broke. Wood splintered. It fell against her. She did not move.

"Step out," you said.

Your voice was loud. It echoed. It was the voice of the law. It was the voice of power.

She looked at you.

She smiled.

It was a small smile. It was sad. It was kind.

"You are tired," she said.

Her voice was soft. It was like wind. It was like leaves.

"I am the law," you said.

"Then you are heavy," she said.

You grabbed her arm.

She was light. She was like a bird. She was like a ghost.

You dragged her out.

The sun was setting. The sky was red. The sky was orange. The trees were shadows.

She walked. She did not struggle. She did not fight. She let you lead her.

You led her to the village.

The village was quiet. The houses were dark. The windows were shuttered. The people were afraid. They hid. They watched from behind the curtains.

They saw you.

They saw her.

They did not cheer.

They did not clap.

They looked at you with fear. They looked at her with pity.

You brought her to the square.

There was a pile of wood. It was dry. It was stacked. It was ready.

The priest was there. He was old. He wore black. He held a book. He read from the book.

The words were Latin. They were hard. They were sharp. They cut the air.

You stood behind her.

You held her shoulder. Your hand was tight. Your grip was iron.

She looked at the wood. She looked at the fire. She looked at the sky.

"Will it hurt?" she asked.

You did not answer.

You should not have answered.

You were the captain. You were the law. You did not answer questions. You gave orders.

But you were silent.

The silence was loud. It filled the square. It filled the air. It filled your chest.

You felt a pain.

It was in your chest. It was in your throat. It was in your hands.

You looked at her.

She looked at you.

Her eyes were not blue anymore. They were dark. They were deep. They were full of something. It was not fear. It was not anger.

It was knowing.

She knew you.

She knew your heart.

She knew your fear.

She knew your loneliness.

You had no family. You had no friends. You had no love. You had only the uniform. You had only the sword. You had only the law.

The law was your wife. The law was your god. The law was your life.

But the law was cold.

The law was hard.

The law was empty.

You looked at her.

You saw yourself.

You saw your own face in her eyes. You saw your own hunger. You saw your own madness.

You were not the hero.

You were the monster.

You were the disease.

The disease was in you. It was in your blood. It was in your bones. It was in your mind.

You had not come to save the village.

You had come to feed your hunger.

You had come to kill the part of yourself that was soft. The part of yourself that was kind. The part of yourself that was human.

She was that part.

She was the mirror.

You looked away.

You could not look.

You turned to the priest.

"Light the fire," you said.

Your voice was flat. It was dead. It was empty.

The priest lit the fire.

The flames rose. They were yellow. They were red. They were hungry. They danced. They laughed. They ate the wood. They ate the air. They ate the light.

She stepped forward.

She did not flinch.

She did not close her eyes.

She opened her arms.

She embraced the fire.

The pain came.

It was not her pain.

It was your pain.

It was in your soul. It was in your spirit. It was in your memory.

You felt the heat. You felt the burn. You felt the char. You felt the ash.

You fell to your knees.

You cried out.

But no sound came.

The fire consumed her.

She became smoke. She became ash. She became memory.

You watched it end.

You watched the last ember die.

You watched the black spot on the ground.

You stood up.

You walked away.

You walked back to the city.

The city was big. It was loud. It was dirty. It was alive.

You went to your house.

You sat in your chair.

You put on your uniform.

You buttoned it. You tied the belt. You put on the hat.

You looked in the mirror.

The face was yours.

The eyes were yours.

The hands were yours.

But they were empty.

They were hollow.

They were shells.

You lived.

You worked.

You commanded.

You judged.

You killed.

You did it all.

You did it perfectly.

You did it without a word. You did it without a sound. You did it without a feeling.

The years passed.

The seasons changed. The leaves fell. The snow fell. The spring came. The flowers bloomed.

You did not care.

You were a machine. You were a tool. You were a weapon.

You were old now.

Your hair was grey. Your back was bent. Your hands were shaking.

You were still the captain.

You were still the law.

But you were tired.

You were so tired.

You went to the square.

The square was empty.

The pile of wood was gone. The fire was gone. The priest was gone.

The spot was still there.

It was black. It was old. It was worn.

You knelt.

You touched it.

It was cold.

It was smooth.

It was real.

You closed your eyes.

You remembered.

You remembered her face.

You remembered her smile.

You remembered her eyes.

You remembered the fire.

You remembered the pain.

You opened your eyes.

The sun was setting.

The sky was red.

The sky was orange.

The shadows were long.

The shadows were deep.

You stood up.

You walked away.

You did not look back.

You walked into the night.

The night was dark.

The night was cold.

The night was silent.

You were alone.

You were free.

You were empty.

You were full.

You were nothing.

You were everything.

You were the law.

You were the witch.

You were the fire.

You were the ash.

You were the silence.

You were the wistful silence.

The silence was heavy.

The silence was light.

The silence was real.

The silence was true.

It was the only thing that mattered.

It was the only thing that was left.

It was the only thing that was yours.

It was the only thing that was hers.

It was the only thing that was human.

You breathed.

The air was cold.

The air was clean.

The air was alive.

You walked.

You walked on.

You walked into the dark.

You walked into the end.

You walked into the peace.

The peace was quiet.

The peace was deep.

The peace was final.

It was the end of the hunt.

It was the end of the law.

It was the end of you.

It was the beginning of nothing.

It was the beginning of everything.

It was the truth.

It was the justice.

It was the mercy.

It was the love.

It was the self.

It was the devotion.

It was the obsession.

It was the end.

It was the start.

It was the now.

It was the here.

It was the you.

It was the I.

It was the we.

It was the they.

It was the all.

It was the one.

It was the none.

It was the silence.

The silence spoke.

The silence screamed.

The silence sang.

The silence danced.

The silence died.

The silence lived.

The silence was.

The silence is.

The silence will be.

The silence is everything.

The silence is nothing.

The silence is you.

The silence is me.

The silence is us.

The silence is them.

The silence is the world.

The silence is the void.

The silence is the light.

The silence is the dark.

The silence is the life.

The silence is the death.

The silence is the truth.

The silence is the lie.

The silence is the love.

The silence is the hate.

The silence is the joy.

The silence is the pain.

The silence is the hope.

The silence is the despair.

The silence is the beginning.

The silence is the end.

The silence is the middle.

The silence is the now.

The silence is the always.

The silence is the never.

The silence is the everything.

The silence is the nothing.

The silence is the one.

The silence is the many.

The silence is the self.

The silence is the other.

The silence is the I.

The silence is the You.

The silence is the We.

The silence is the They.

The silence is the All.

The silence is the One.

The silence is the None.

The silence is the Silence.

The silence is the Wistful Silence.

The silence is the End.