New Day

It's over, thought Wolff. No more will the gulled cry at the walls. No more inappropriate questions at inappropriate times, about one's personal and private life. No more inappropriate behaviour more fitting to some Siberian birchwood sauna. If the Citadel had ViciLeaks, a single shiny platter would not have been enough for the two decades of abuse of power, of shameful treatment, of exile of the faithful, of tormenting the vulnerable.

Let those who do not believe continue unbelieving, said Wolff to himself. They can have whatever peace of mind they forge for themselves. It does not change the facts. It does not change the many testimonies of people whose lives were manipulated for ill, who were made to feel unclean.

But what we do after the rebuke and the removal must be in terms of repentance and restoration. And so it was that Wolff sank down on his knees to pray for the soul of the Grand Inquisitor, for it was the right thing to do, and he had finally brought himself to the point of realising it.

He felt the heavy breathing of the Hound of Heaven slow and lighten behind him. He did not dare turn around.

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Note: The fictional adventures of Sir Wolff do provide much that is of interest. You can find them linked here. Just ignore the one about earwax. That was an accident.