Sebastian wandered aimlessly through one of the Chantry’s side rooms, adjusting a candle here, shifting a book there. It would be another half hour before evening services, and he had time to kill. He reached out to adjust a small painting of Andraste and Maferath that was hanging crooked in a corner. No wonder it was tucked away almost out of sight. Maferath’s name was synonymous with treachery. His jealousy had changed the world. He wasn’t exactly someone to inspire a flock to good works and love for the Maker. As Sebastian pondered that, running his hand idly over the frame, someone whispered in his ear, close enough to touch:
Is that my wife’s face on your crotch?
Sebastian whipped his head around, checking the room for intruders. No one was there.
His heart began slowing to its normal pace, and he had to laugh at his own jumpiness. His imagination was just working overtime. Wasn’t it?