They're coming to light the pyre. Burned as a witch. Not quite what I envisioned as my swan song.

I'd snuck into the village for a quick audit. Normal dreary stuff. Male hierarchy, religious chattel bondage, subsistence farming.

And then I saw her, washing at the creek. She's promised to Jallop the smith, but that isn't her desire.

They found us in the hayloft, her hungry cunt riding my face. I'd bespelled her, they cried, and we both had to die.

"Hold my hand, Dellea. Tight," I warn. "Time to beam me out, Captain... and I'm bringing a new recruit."