"You are wrong," I said.

The candle flickered.

"It is not wrong," Father Julian replied. His voice was low. It was steady.

"I am innocent."

"Are you?"

He looked at me. He did not blink. The shadows in the chapel were deep. They pooled in the corners. They waited.

I held the letter. My hands shook. The paper was thin. It was damp. It smelled of rain and rot. I had found it in the root cellar. It was sealed with black wax. It bore the seal of the King.

It was a warrant.

It named me. It named the crime. It was theft. It was treason. It was the theft of the crown jewels.

I had not stolen them.

I knew this. I knew it in my bones. I had never touched them. I had never even seen them. I was the cellar keeper. I was the servant. I was the one who swept the floors. I was the one who cleaned the boots.

But the King said I was guilty.

The King is never wrong.

The King is God on Earth.

"Prove it," Father Julian said.

"How?"

"Show me the truth."

I looked at the letter again. The ink was smeared. The words were blurry. I wanted to burn it. I wanted to eat it. I wanted to scream.

I did not.

I am a prisoner.

I have been a prisoner for three years.

I am not in a cell.

I am in the castle.

I have a room. I have a bed. I have food. I am free to walk the halls.

But I am not free.

I am the accused.

The whole town knows. They point at me. They spit on the ground when I pass. They cross themselves. They whisper.

They say I am a thief.

They say I am a traitor.

They say I am evil.

I am not evil.

I am tired.

I am so tired.

The wind howled outside. It hit the glass. It rattled the panes. It sounded like a beast. It sounded like a wolf. It sounded like death.

"Stay," Father Julian said.

"I must go."

"Go where?"

"To the King."

"He will kill you."

"Let him."

"You are afraid."

"No."

"You are lying."

I stood up. My knees ached. My back was stiff. I was fifty years old. I looked older. I looked like a ghost.

"I am not afraid," I said again.

"Then why do you shake?"

I stopped. I looked at my hands. They were trembling. The letter fell from my grasp. It hit the stone floor. It made a soft sound. A dry sound.

Father Julian did not pick it up.

He watched me.

He watched me with pity.

It was worse than anger.

It was worse than fear.

Pity cuts deep.

Pity says you are small.

Pity says you are nothing.

"I will go," I said.

"Take this," he said.

He reached into his robe. He pulled out a small vial. It was glass. It was clear. It held a dark liquid.

"What is it?"

"Truth," he said.

"Drink it."

I took it. It was cold. It burned my skin. I uncorked it. It smelled of herbs. It smelled of earth. It smelled of blood.

I did not drink it.

I poured it into the fire.

The liquid hissed. It turned green. It turned black. It vanished.

"Madness," I said.

"Sanity," he said.

I left the chapel.

The air was cold.

It bit my face.

It stung my eyes.

I walked to the gate.

The guards were there.

They stood in the snow.

They held their spears.

They wore steel.

They looked at me.

They did not move.

They did not stop me.

They let me pass.

They always let me pass.

It is a joke.

It is a cruel joke.

I am free to leave.

I am not free to stay.

I walked down the hill.

The village was below.

The lights were out.

The streets were empty.

The snow was silent.

It covered everything.

It covered the sin.

It covered the guilt.

It covered the truth.

I reached the edge of the woods.

The trees were black.

They were tall.

They were twisted.

They reached for the sky.

They grabbed the stars.

They held them tight.

I entered the woods.

The snow crunched under my feet.

The branches scraped my face.

The cold entered my bones.

I walked.

I walked until my legs gave out.

I fell.

I lay in the snow.

I looked up.

The sky was open.

The stars were bright.

They were cold.

They were distant.

They did not care.

I closed my eyes.

I waited.

I did not know for what.

For death.

For dawn.

For mercy.

There was no mercy.

There was only the dark.

And then, I heard a voice.

It was soft.

It was clear.

It was close.

"Thomas."

I opened my eyes.

I saw a figure.

It stood in the snow.

It was tall.

It was thin.

It wore a cloak.

It was white.

It was like the snow.

It was like the moon.

It was like the light.

"Who are you?" I asked.

"I am the truth," it said.

"It is a lie," I said.

"It is a mirror," it said.

"Look."

I looked.

I saw myself.

I saw my face.

I saw my eyes.

I saw my mouth.

I saw the dirt.

I saw the grime.

I saw the stain.

It was on my hand.

It was black.

It was thick.

It was blood.

I looked down.

I looked at my hand.

It was clean.

It was white.

It was bare.

I looked at the figure again.

It smiled.

It did not have a face.

It had only light.

It had only shadow.

It was nothing.

It was everything.

"Did you steal the jewels?" it asked.

"No," I said.

"Did you lie?"

"Yes."

"Did you betray the King?"

"Yes."

"Then you are guilty."

"I am innocent," I said.

"You are a lie," it said.

I screamed.

I screamed into the snow.

I screamed into the dark.

I screamed into the void.

The sound tore my throat.

The sound broke my lungs.

The sound shattered the silence.

The figure did not move.

It did not flinch.

It did not care.

It waited.

I stopped.

I gasped.

I breathed.

The air was sharp.

The air was sweet.

The air was alive.

I looked at my hand again.

The stain was there.

It was real.

It was mine.

I had made it.

I had made the lie.

I had made the crime.

I had made the monster.

I was the monster.

I was the thief.

I was the traitor.

I was the villain.

The figure raised its hand.

It pointed at the sky.

It pointed at the stars.

It pointed at the end.

I understood.

I did not want to understand.

I did not want to know.

But I knew.

The King was not the villain.

The system was not the villain.

The law was not the villain.

I was the villain.

My pride was the villain.

My fear was the villain.

My silence was the villain.

I had not spoken.

I had not defended myself.

I had not fought.

I had let them define me.

I had let them break me.

I had let them eat me.

I had become what they said I was.

I was a slave to their words.

I was a prisoner of their minds.

I was a ghost in their story.

The figure stepped closer.

The snow melted around its feet.

The ground steamed.

The light grew brighter.

It blinded me.

It burned me.

It consumed me.

I felt my body dissolve.

I felt my mind scatter.

I felt my soul tear.

It was pain.

It was ecstasy.

It was peace.

I did not want to die.

I did not want to live.

I wanted to be free.

The figure spoke one last time.

"Its time."

The light took me.

The darkness took me.

The silence took me.

I was gone.

I was here.

I was nowhere.

I was everywhere.

The snow fell.

The snow covered the grave.

The snow covered the lie.

The snow covered the truth.

The snow covered the man.

The man was gone.

The man was free.

The man was dead.

The man was alive.

The man was me.

The man was you.

The man is us.

We are all thieves.

We are all traitors.

We are all ghosts.

We are all shadows.

We are all lies.

We are all truths.

We are all one.

We are all many.

We are all nothing.

We are all everything.

The wind blew.

The wind howled.

The wind sang.

The wind cried.

The wind whispered.

The wind told the story.

The wind told the end.

The wind told the beginning.

The wind told the middle.

The wind told the truth.

The wind told the lie.

The wind told the secret.

The wind told the name.

The wind told the fate.

The wind told the choice.

The wind told the cost.

The wind told the price.

The wind told the debt.

The wind told the pay.

The wind told the end.

The wind told the start.

The wind told the loop.

The wind told the circle.

The wind told the wheel.

The wind told the turn.

The wind told the spin.

The wind told the fall.

The wind told the rise.

The wind told the climb.

The wind told the drop.

The wind told the jump.

The wind told the leap.

The wind told the dive.

The wind told the crash.

The wind told the break.

The wind told the mend.

The wind told the heal.

The wind told the scar.

The wind told the mark.

The wind told the brand.

The wind told the seal.

The wind told the sign.

The wind told the mark.

The wind told the name.

The wind told the truth.

The wind told the lie.

The wind told the end.