“Trust me,” he says softly with a strange calm, though the deep timbre of his voice clearly conveys urgency. Before us lies an orange world that appears to have split open in mayhem. Flames eat away at the flags that line the Drudenhaus walls. Blurred bodies press against one another, screaming in unison, fleeing for the gate that will spill them out onto the street. Laurentz too is covered in red, but when a hot breeze sweeps past us I see it is his uniform, red and gold, the colors of the Prince Bishop, the colors he wore in the forest. “Hurry!” he urges me. I thrust my hand into his, and we are running. The heat from the courtyard is unbearable, and the steady rush of air brings a relief to my skin. We run in the opposite direction of the screams and I try to pull my hand back, knowing the other way is the only way out, but Laurentz will not let me go until we’ve reached a high wall on one end of the yard. He holds his entwined fingers inverted, motioning for me to climb onto them so he can hoist me up.
