“I know exactly what that feels like.”
The image of a silhouette fighting Nero’s soldiers inside the house returns to my mind.
The same curves.
The same lightness of movement.
The same agility as the woman who trained me.
And her silence, even while knowing everything I have endured, is a scream confirming my suspicions.
She is waiting for me.
But I know her patience is running out because it is painfully obvious that I will not take a single step toward her.
The feeling of having been used, even for something good, makes me nothing more than a means for someone else to achieve their goals once again, exactly as Dante did.
The difference is that one wanted wealth and power.
The other wants absolution for her own sins.
I remember the first time I collapsed in her arms.
The time
