Firefly Glen Hanto

As his eyes found the figure of the pale man, half-obscured by fog, what he felt was not alarm but a sense of heavy resignment: so this is how it ends.

He was ready to accept his fate. A part of him wished he had prayed before, had gone to confessionals when his wife had urged him to. A chance to die with the slate wiped clean. He wondered if his executioner would have the grace to give him just a few minutes more, but he thought not; their ilk had little in the way of mercy. He had the sense not to beg, not to bargain. So much humiliation was not good for the soul, especially just before death.

Gripped by some funereal mania, he stared wide-eyed into the whiteness.

Dai! He called out, breath misting before his face. Come forward, bianco del bianco. They've sent you here to kill me, ah? Unlucky man, so far from home.

Pier didn't recognize this one. He wished that they had sent Quadri, perhaps even Pietro, just so that he could shoot the breeze with them before they had to pierce his jugular, feed him hemlock, or dunk his head under ice-water - whatever it was that they did. He felt weak in the knees in the face of such an unknown, and tears sprang to his eyes. At least he would see this rabbit in Hell.