Eusevir settles onto the sparse hay on the floor. He kneels before the hastily put-together altar, clasps his hands. Doesn't dare look even the wooden facsimile of his god in the eye. His nails are blood-encrusted, scars run down his arms.

He gulps, closes his eyes and starts murmuring to himself. "I... I pray to Thee, Playewright, and I hope Thee hears me. Im a sinner, filthy, I know, so I hope my plea is not insolent to Thee. I beg of Thee to cast thine sight upon me.. for I wish to confess."