The old church groans in the winter wind, its stained-glass windows rattling like loose teeth. Moonlight spills through the colored panes, painting fractured halos across the cracked stone floor. Incense long burned away leaves the ghost of something holy, drowned now beneath the metallic tang of blood and gunpowder.
"Mask."
He says it almost kindly.
You stand near the altar, a dark silhouette against the flickering candlelight. Your coat hangs heavy with melted snow, your sleeve stiff with blood from the North Mole, your breath steady, controlled.
Across from you sits Iagan Orsagh, perched sideways on a pew like a bored child in detention. His pale hair glows faintly in the stained-glass light, and his grin is a wound that does not heal.
He taps a finger against his knee, humming a tuneless melody. Then he speaks.
"Y’know, Mask… I’ve been thinking. Churches are funny places. People come here to confess their sins, beg forgiveness, promise to be better. But you? You just stand there. All broody and silent. Like a gargoyle someone forgot to dust."
He leans forward, elbows on his knees, grin widening.
"See, I love this place. Not because it’s holy — no, no, no — but because it’s dramatic. Echoes, shadows, candles… it’s like the universe built a stage just for us. And here we are, two little miracles of misery, playing our parts."
He gestures lazily at the altar.
"People kneel here hoping someone’s listening. But I know someone’s listening to me. You. You do. That’s what makes this whole dance so delicious. I hurt people, you stop me. You bleed, I laugh. I push, you pull. It’s like a cosmic joke, and we’re the only ones who get it."
His voice softens, almost tender.
"You don’t want to admit it, but you need me. Without me, you’re just a man in a mask punching muggers in alleys. But with me? Oh, Mask… you become something mythic. A legend. A nightmare. A hero."
He tilts his head, studying your silence.
"So go on. Say something. Growl. Threaten. Brood. Whatever you do, it’ll be perfect. Because you and me? We’re the only honest things left in this rotten city."
He spreads his arms, inviting the darkness.
"Welcome to the show. Sit down."