text: [Themes: Religious, Historical, Christianity, monk, religion]
  
  > describe your surroundings
  Broken stone and snow are all that remain here. A north-south path with but a few footsteps can be picked out through the rubble leading from the monastery towards Rovato.
  
  A tangled mass of corpses lines the southern side of the former gate.
  
  > look at the footsteps
  There are two sets: one that goes both in and out, and another that only goes out. Mingled among them is a strange pattern in the snow. It looks as though someone was using two hot pokers as walking sticks, one in each hand. The melted holes cut through the snow, revealing scorch marks on the dead grass beneath.
  
  Cold knives of pain cut through your skull. They ease off, leaving a dull throbbing behind your eyes.
  
  > Go south
  The fallen snow is too thick. You would not make it far on foot.
  
  > Go north
  The sun's light does nothing to warm you, but instead it burns your eyes with its fury: nothing like the cool darkness inside the monastery to the north. It is so bright that you can barely make out the stables to the east: they are just a darker square in a field of white. The infirmary is a little clearer to the west. A tangle of footsteps lead south to the gate.
  
  > Go west
  The infirmary stands well away from the rest of the monastery. Little good it has done, though. The plague still seeped its way in. A rickety door leads into the infirmary, and a well-worn path leads to the cemetery in the northwest and back to the main path in the east.
  
  > go inside
  (opening the infirmary door)
  
  The smell is bad, although not as bad as you had expected it to be: Constantin must be keeping up with dealing with the dead. Empty, vomit-stained beds lie haphazardly about the room. Buckets overflow with human filth: the plague soon overtook those caring for the sick. The air is heavy with disease.
  
  An itch tickles beneath your skin.
  
  > Smell
  Blood, vomit, and feces: the Trinity of the plague.
  
  > look at the buckets
  Vomit and human filth rise over the sides of the buckets and spill to the floor. The smell is unimaginable.
  
  > take bucket
  No, they are disgusting.
  
  > go to the northwest
  The wind whips its way through the tombstones, whistling a harsh tune. The air is crisp and clean, the smell of corpses is nowhere to be found. In a section off from the established cemetary, row upon row of makeshift crosses stand: plague victims. The path winds its way back to the infirmary in the southeast.
  
  > examine the tombstones
  The inscriptions have long since worn away from the elements: dozens of nameless souls lie beneath.
  
  > Dig
  You tear into the snow with your hands, struggling to hold onto your fingers in the cold. Eventually, you strike the soil. Clearing a little patch, you find the soil undisturbed. You try another hole. Same thing. Nothing has disturbed the ground in quite some time.
  
  > look at the crosses
  Little more than two branches tied together, each of the crosses bears a faint scratch: the name of the brother that lies beneath. The scratches are so faint and Constantin's scrawl so shaky that they are illegible.
  
  > go inside
  The smell is bad, although not as bad as you had expected it to be: Constantin must be keeping up with dealing with the dead. Empty, vomit-stained beds lie haphazardly about the room. Buckets overflow with human filth: the plague soon overtook those caring for the sick. The air is heavy with disease.
  
  > look at the beds
  The beds lay strewn about the room. Far more are packed in here than usual. Most of the brothers were brought with their own beds from the dormitory. Soon, the infirmary housed as many as the dormitory. The patterns of vomit are grotesque outlines of human bodies.
  
  Within some of the outlines of vomit, you see strange, brownish-red marks.
  
  > look at marks
  Looking closely, you recognize the telltale patina of dried blood.
  
  > take the blood
  They're hardly portable.
  
  > Go outside
  The infirmary stands well away from the rest of the monastery. Little good it has done, though. The plague still seeped its way in. A rickety door leads into the infirmary, and a well-worn path leads to the cemetery in the northwest and back to the main path in the east.
  
  > examine the door
  The door creaks on its hinges as it sways back and forth in a draft.
  
  > go to the west
  Before you leave, you close the entrance door lest the snow, or worse, get in.
  
  The locutory used to be alive with the bartering of merchants and the tales of visiting brothers, but since the gate was closed, no one has been in here but you. A small bed is pushed up against the wall for those visitors not permitted residency in the monastery, its tired frame supporting a light mattress.
  
  A small circle of warmth surrounds the fireplace near the door to the east.
  
  Cecilia paces back and forth.
  
  > take the cecilia's eyes
  "Go, find Lucca," she says, pointing to the door. "If you are in trouble, pray to me. I will do whatever I can to help."
  
  Taken.
  
  > look at the cecilia's eyes
  Blue. Like icewater.
  
  > pray to Cecilia
  You say a few short words to Cecilia.
  
  She can do nothing for you, right now.
  
  > go to the north
  You can go only south, east, in or out.
  
  > examine the scratchings
  At first it looks random, but upon closer inspection it appears to a picture. It cuts deep: two intersecting lines surrounded by jagged grooves. A cross. Fire.
  
  > go to the south
  He always had so many secrets. You knew it would kill him one day, but not Lucca. North leads out.
  
  One of the flagstones is tinted with blood.
  
  > go upwards
  Panting more than a little, you make your way up the stairs to the top.
  
  The snow below is dark and broken. Yet all around is pristine. It is clean.
  
  The bell sways in the breeze, its tongue almost, but never, touching the sides.
  
  > jump
  Closing your eyes, you step from the edge. The wind whistles about you, but you cannot hear it.
  
  Hell has a special place for those who commit suicide.
  
  > go north
  Church (in the pews)
  A tangle of pews fills the room: they part through the middle and up to the chancel in the north. Light hits the windows and slides down outside: lost. The church is dim; the frescoes are lost in shadow.
  
  Matteo hangs from the cross, melting snow forms a pool at his feet.
  
  The font squats before the chancel, its finish a mouldy grey.
  
  The Saints look down with cold eyes. It is not pity. Something else.
  
  > Light fire
  It does not light. The dampness spoils everything here.
  
  Violent coughs spew from your lungs. You wipe a small spattering of blood from your mouth.
  
  > pray to mary
  A sob is all you hear.
  
  > pray to God
  Your head splits, his voice drips through you like oil.
  
  > pray to Jesus
  Your head splits, his voice drips through you like oil.
  
  Violent coughs spew from your lungs. You wipe a small spattering of blood from your mouth.