Darkness settles around me. I cry out, but nobody hears the wild, inhuman scream that tears itself from my ravaged, bloody throat.

Sudden light, blossoming around me, like so many set fires. Is this heaven? I squint into the glare of the golden sunbursts surrounding me. Surely this can't be heaven, you don't feel pain in heaven, and besides I don't belong there anyway.

Is this hell? But the fires supposedly burn red from the blood of the tortured in hell and I hear no screams, no pleading from those thrice-damned souls.

Darkness closes once more; I am alone with my thoughts.

Where am I? The sudden question comes sharply, edged with the last vestiges of sanity I possess, from the stark black of my dying mind.

The pain of my wounds is numb, far away, insignificant, as am I, insignificant to those I serve.

As I lie suspended on this bed of hard stone, something inside me snaps and I let go of consciousness.

I watch as the world vanishes, fleeting as a summer wind.

I see the light I have read about, blinding me momentarily.

But I am at the end of my suffering.

I don't know where I am, this grey, gloomy place, a sort of halfway house between the two written of places, heaven and hell.

But, I reflect, this is all I'm really good for.

I died a traitor's death and will reap the consequences for the rest of eternity.