‘A serpent!’ Cried the man, his pupils widening. ‘A wicked serpent sat upon her shoulder, skin black as night, with diamonds bright, and its eyes watched the sins before it.’

‘Continue.’ Said the Inquisitor, his quill scribbling in noisy transcription. ‘Tell me everything that happened that night.’

‘She… she... performed.’ Said the man, tears welling beneath his swollen eyelids. ‘And between each tortured act, each terrible transgression, she caressed the scaled demon, affording it the love and affection one gives a favoured pet.’

The Inquisitor, his face turned ashen, was no longer writing.