'“I’m fine, dear,” Olek muttered. He looked down to find his hand had turned black, charred like a piece of meat left too long on a grill. He concealed it in his trouser pocket and continued to trail Victoria down the glorious emerald field, unable to keep up. An enormous white canopy was ahead of them, and beautiful orchestral music rippled through the rolling hills. There were hundreds of smiling faces. “C’mon, Olek. We’re going to miss the whole thing.” “I’m right behind you.” His legs were leaden poles, the very act of lifting them was becoming impossible.'