Locus turns, he sees the monstrous form lurking there, but there is no horror. How can there be? The true horror is behind him, within him, and he cannot escape it. It sticks in his craw and chokes him even now, and he stares back at the Faceless.

Suffering is justified. He deserves this. But it's overwhelming. There's too much blood on his hands to ever come clean, surely. If they knew, if any of them knew the truth, they would leave as York had done.

He is a monster. It is inescapable. Yet this creature claims to know a way, and though he knows he should not trust it--

"...How?"