My sickness had finally caught up with me. As I crawled to the shrine of my goddess at the junction of the three roads, my lifeblood flows out through my fingers and onto the gravel. The great goddess, my goddess, Hecate had kept her promise; she'd kept me safe in the shadows all these years. And for that, I'd eternally be in her debt, should she ever need my services in the next life.
For sixteen years Hecate has protected me and my killings. For sixteen years have I wandered the world and killed indiscriminately. And for sixteen years, all Hecate has required of me for her protection is that whenever I come across anything dealing with the worship of her that I stop and offer a sacrifice of flesh, blood and bone. I think that the body of my final victim and myself, at the same altar that our covenant was first forged, would be proof enough that I have not ever faltered in my worship.
As I raise my bloody hand to the statuette of Hecate in the shrine, my dying eyes play the same trick on me they did all those years ago. For once my hand touched the image of my goddess, I could have sworn it looked upon me with a look both pleased and saddened. "O, goddess of the hidden," I say. "My soul is yours, a-a-a-a final pay…ment for your protection."
My strength has finally fled my dying body, as I fall to the ground. My last words, nigh, my last breath a praise to Hecate, my great goddess.