Bartholomew’s gaze remained distant as he sat leaned over his chair in the evening cool. A gentle breeze shook the light, white curtains and cooled the ointments on his scarred back. Behind him, Lita dabbed the applicator into the vial- serving a gracious amount of the viscous, yellow liquids to stroke on the jagged, hypertrophic skin of the prisoner’s muscled shoulders.

He felt oddly at-peace in the knowing that, by long, he would be dead. Finally, his torment in this world would be over and he would be free to wander the afterlife in search of a plane less painful- less judging... He was left to ponder what it had all meant. Why had he been born to a world so cruel- so cold and void of understanding for his only desires? Had it been to entertain the Gods? Had his life been naught but a piece in some divine puzzle to bemuse the unseen overlords beyond the Veil of existence? Or had he originally been meant for something greater, only to be discarded for his many wrongdoings against his Father and the Emperor?

A hummed song broke him out from his musings and brought his attention to the slight smile on his pale companion’s luscious, red lips. Lita seemed more radiant than ever, where she stood behind his back with her lengthy, white hair flowing in the cool breeze- seated on his desk with her legs crossed in an oddly comfortable position. He enjoyed this Lita... she was somehow far more human than the timid creature he had met all those months ago in Pilta. She had character and personality- the confidence to make herself comfortable atop his desk. At least he had done something good with his life.

“Master Bartholomew... you seem burdened. Is something the matter?” He was taken aback by the simplicity of the question and summarily laughed into the chair. With a shake of his head, he spoke: “No... No, I think perhaps, that all is as it was supposed to be. But I was just thinking how you seem different.” Her hand paused, but her smile never faltered. Instead, she seemed to consider something for a ponderous moment before returning to smear his back with the stick of cotton.

Bartholomew hurriedly corrected himself with: “I much prefer you like this. You seem so full of life.” She giggled and seemingly made her mind up before confessing: “That is because I am, Bartholomew. Full of life, that is.” She put the applicator back into the vial and stepped around to gaze into his confused, blue eyes. Her smile highlighted her tall cheek bones and as she grabbed his hand, he had to confess to blushing ever-so-slightly.

She led his hand up to her lower belly and said: “It is early, yet, but I know. I can feel the seed blossoming in my womb. In my vision, I was shown a boy, but I am not so certain now...” With her free hand, she brushed a lock of her white hair beyond her ear to display yet more of her radiant skin. His eyes widened on reflex- it was not the first announcement of pregnancy he had heard, but at least this time he was certain it was not his.

He brought his large hand to her flat stomach and blinked several times. She seemed happy- meaning it was a wanted pregnancy.

“B-but... how? I thought the Purged were-” She eagerly nodded and formed an upside-down figure of a heart over his hand while stating: “It is a miracle. He has blessed me with His child... and what a glorious child she is.” Bartholomew found himself smiling. Lita would make a good mother- she was kind, attentive and, to the best of his knowledge, a loving person. He was relieved to see her continue to smile warmly at him, but found himself questioning if she understood the gravity of the situation. His own smile soon turned crooked as the shock of it all receded to the back of his mind to make way for the terrible truth.

“Then we had better get you out of here before the miracle is too obvious. The Order and the Inquisition will not look kindly on your pregnancy.” She surprised him by giggling her warm laugh. Shaking her head, she corrected him: “No, Sire. You must leave, but there is work for me here, yet. But not to worry, no harm will come to either of us, which is more than I can say for you if you stay.” As much as he enjoyed this new, confident Lita, he did not appreciate her refusal to see reason. Bartholomew- always the one for the honey, rather than the salt, changed tacts and suggested:

“I do not think the child’s father would be too glad in the knowing that his beloved is running such a risk. Which brings me to the question...” Again, she giggled, but this time he could have sworn her blue eyes flickered a bright green, just next to her pupillae.

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“Yes. He is a Capitan too- we both know him well. I dare not speak His hallowed name here- not with so many ears upon us.” She stroked Bartholomew’s hand atop her stomach and looked to the floor thoughtfully while whispering: “I must confess that it pains me to be so far from my beloved. I miss Him dearly, but now that I have part of Him with me, always, the pain is somewhat lessened.” Bartholomew’s eyes widened as he made the realization. One impossibility had, although unlikely, been believable, but... Asrael. He slowly retracted his hand and gazed at the girl thoughtfully.

“H-him? C-can he even... how did you-” It seemed she was more than eager to show him- perhaps because she could sense his confusion and his shameful arousal at the thought of the depraved sight. Their eyes met and within the blink of an eye, he found himself looking down upon the pale madman’s head of black hair, his green eyes and the gritted teeth. The sheets were wet with her sweat- no wonder, as she bounced atop him with fervor- begging for his seed.

Bartholomew felt her orgasmic joy burning in her abdomen as Asrael continued to glare his intense, hungry stare into her loving eyes.

Bartholomew groaned and reached for his chest as Lita broke her spell. Though only a second had passed since their eyes locked, he felt as if he had just made love to the necromancer for hours. His thighs even ached as if he had been on the receiving end of the thrashing from below and behind. Most of all, he was surprised to realize that Asrael was not only capable of, but a masterfully attentive and talented lover. He felt a jolt of long-forgotten pleasure- a sensation of hope that not all was lost. He took a moment to breathe deep and enjoy the fading jolt as Lita whispered:

“I thought you would like that. It seems I was not wrong.” Bartholomew shook his head. “No, you were not. Heavens- I hadn’t thought him capable, if I am honest. Of any of it, really.” She raised a gentle, soft hand to his cheek and raised his attention from the floor to look at her. Their eyes met once more, but this time, rather than force herself into his mind, it seemed she was extracting something from him. He felt oddly naked- more so than he truthfully was, in his skimpy set of underpants.

Her smile widened as she seemed to read something from his eyes and said: “You saw it. You saw yourself... but you did not like it.” It did not take long for Bartholomew to know what she referred to. Without breaking from their stare, he shook his head.

“No, I did not. That cursed mirror- its images haunt me. I cannot explain it. It felt so real...” She kept her hand on his cheek and nodded.

“It can be. It is one of many, possible futures. I wonder-….” She stopped herself from saying it, but Bartholomew craved anyone’s wisdom on the subject. He was, after all, alone in the knowing of the blasphemous sight he had seen. With his expression alone, he urged her to continue.

“In this world you saw- the one in which you wore the insignias of the Emperor and the High Inquisitor, both... do you believe my daughter could live happily? Openly?” Her words only served to discomfort him, but he knew it to be a discomfort he needed to face- sooner or later. He brought his hand up to hold hers and shook his head.

“I am certain it would be different. But I have no intention of being neither Emperor nor High Inquisitor. B-besides... our ‘friend’ has his sight on those two. Though I am not certain he would do any better, at least he wants it.” She raised her brows in a pitying look and shook her neatly brushed, white hair.

“No, Lord Bartholomew. You are wrong. His Green Flame will purify the world, but once the fire dies, he will have no interest in ruling its embers. But you... you are different. You know the plight of the weak and the wounded- you can do great things, if you were to only allow yourself to do so.” He appreciated the kind words, alas, he furrowed his brow and dismissed her with a hand on her shoulder.

“No, Lita... If I were a man worthy of my word and name, I would have stopped what took place in Pilta. I would have intervened in the madness and freed Her People from Titus’ madness. But I am not He. I am Bartholomew, traitor son and divine jest.” He scoffed a bitter chuckle and retracted his hand- already imagining the horrors this world had in store for Lita’s unborn child. She surprised him by taking a step closer to smile up at him and moved her hand down to his naked, greased shoulder.

“You are not at your best right now. But I believe you can be so much more- I know you can be so much more. For now, I believe it best you take this time to heal. You will need all your strength for what is to come.” As she blinked, Bartholomew felt a cold shiver ripple through his body. The green in her eyes had been eerily reminiscent of that of his now-departed brother in the days before the fall of Pilta, but as soon as the viridescent glint had appeared, it had vanished. He forced a pained smile and nodded in a jerk.

“Whatever that may be...” He muttered in a scoff.