He dreams of the angel. She pours her tears over his head, and senses long dimmed rouse.
Light pains his eyes. Air burns in his throat, and the music – ! A grand, terrifying sweep, ever-shifting – no theme to set variations.
"It was not so," he breathes, from the dim recesses of dark and ancient memory.
"Behold the glory of the Gifts of Men," the angel answers. She kisses him, then remonstrates: "To the world that is our destiny, Brother, and make right lament."
He wakes to the taste of salt, to the broken body. Terror-stricken, he flees, staggering – 'til he sees him. There, in the street, hand upraised...
Make right lament. He's threadbare in his being – I can't, I can't...!.
The traffic cop startles when the grimy apparition falls at his feet. "What the – ?"
"Save us!" Wild, tear-blind eyes lift, compelling silence, as he confesses wretchedly: "I... I've killed a woman!"
1. Day 25: Card: The World
Thanks to Juno and Aranel for the challenge.