The door to Ruby's private quarters opened with a creak, and the Pope entered.
He was an old man, his white robes immaculate, his silver hair thinning to a wispy crown around a liver-spotted scalp. His face was lined with the deep, sagging folds of advanced age, and his eyes, pale, watery green, held a gentle and benevolent expression.
Right now, he would remind you of a grandfather visiting a beloved grandchild.
He moved slowly, leaning on a ceremonial staff of polished ebony, as though the weight of his holy office had settled into his very bones.
To anyone watching, he was the picture of pious wisdom, a man who had dedicated his long life to the service of the gods and the guidance of the faithful.
But Ruby knew what lived beneath that mask.
When she saw him, her body reacted before her mind could catch up. Her pupils dilated, her breath seized in her throat.
