The thought was so blasphemous, so horrifying, yet so utterly irresistible.
He clapped a hand over his mouth, as if to stifle the blasphemous words that threatened to escape.
But deep within his eyes, in a gaze steeped in years of venom and despair, an uncontrollable flicker of faint yet incredibly real rapturous joy ignited!
Yes, rapturous joy!
He knew it was inappropriate. He knew such a catastrophe would mean the deaths of countless people, turmoil in the Holy City, even a crisis of faith. But the thought that the source of his misery—the one who had tortured him for most of his life and destroyed everything he had, that high and mighty Pope—might be gone for good was like a potent poison, instantly setting his long-frozen, numb heart ablaze.
He huddled in the shadows in a corner of the shop, his body trembling violently from fear and this sudden, guilty excitement.
The ringing in his ears began to fade, and the chaotic cries of the world outside started to filter in.
