"I don't believe anyone even had a moustache," she says, regretfully.

Despite her death, her hand is warm, and so is the smile she offers her God, as she pats the back of his hand with her free one. "Don't fret about us, Lord. You don't marry – if I may say so myself – one of the greatest spirit magicians the Fifth has ever seen without knowing you're in it for the long haul. I may have failed in becoming your Lyctor, but I still have a few tricks up my sleeve."