His hands go to the sides of his head and he screams. The ice hanging from the ceiling shatters at the banshee howl, raining down what for some would be crystalline death on the floor. It tears his jacket and pants, but melts before it reaches the flaming bones. The enchanted walls are untouched.
He hammers at the wall, a bony knuckle cracking under the force while the wall shows no impression of it.
In torment, feeling the sin, but unable to quite touch it, and just feeling that he's the one man, out of all of them who can see her, that she won't look at... won't look into his eyes and feel her victims' pain, he staggers and stumbles to his knees, finding himself peering into a second of the rooms.
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