"Mama—Mama—"
I search for her through the blur, through the smoke, through the fire that dances and distorts everything.
Then I see them.
The children. Small shapes pressed between skirts and legs, lifted onto arms, held close not to be spared—but to see. Their faces turn toward me, wide-eyed, unblinking, their small mouths parted, their fingers clutching at sleeves as they watch.
They do not look away. One of them tilts their head, curious, as though trying to understand what I am becoming.
They brought them. They brought them to watch.
The flames climb higher. They take the fabric, my skin, my breath.
"I’m here—please—Mama—"
Through the flames, through the heat that bends the air and blurs the world, I find her.
Her face breaks through the blur of bodies, pale and wet, her mouth open around a sound I cannot quite hear. For a moment, everything else falls away. The heat, the pain, the roaring in my ears—none of it matters.
My mama is looking at me.
My body strains toward her without moving, my voice breaking again as I reach for her with nothing but sound.
"Mama—"
Her eyes lock onto mine, and for a brief instant, I am certain—she will come. She will stop this. She will push through them, tear me free, pull me out of the fire like she has pulled me from every fear since I was small.
"My child…" she whispers, though I barely hear it over the crackle of the fire. Her lips tremble, each word pulled from her as though it costs her something to speak. "This… this is for your good."
The words do not make sense.
I shake my head, my chest convulsing as I try to breathe.
Her hands clasp tighter before her, body folding inward as though she cannot hold herself upright. Still, she looks at me.
"You must be made clean," she cries, tears spilling freely now. "This will purify what has been… corrupted." Her voice falters, then steadies again, forcing itself forward. "So your soul may be received. So you may still—"
Her breath falters.
"—meet the Father."
The world shrinks on itself.
"No—" The plea tears out of me. "No—Mama—please—"
"She must be silenced!"
Petru’s wife's voice rises somewhere near, laced with panic.
"Cover her mouth. Do you not hear her? She will call it. She will bring it here."
Hands move again at the edge of my vision, uncertain, wavering.
"We cannot reach her—" someone says. "The fire—"
"Then cover her face," she snaps, urgency tightening her tone. "Muffle it. Do you wish to invite it upon us as well?"
A murmur ripples through the crowd.
