The man explained that an indemnity or ritual of reconciliation would require coins of silver, an immersion and a libation in foreign parts. There was risk involved, and he was not sure she would appreciate it or really want it in the end. The lady thought about it and insisted. Thus, together they set off for his native land to expiate her crime. The man came from a vast empire of abandoned provinces, some crowded and rich and others empty and desolate, if not forgotten and barely maintained, provinces full of secrets and long nights, like hundreds of deep drawers in the gargantuan wooden chests of derelict mansions. On arriving, they wandered a seemingly endless street of dust and stone, green lights and black iron signs, boarded up shops and walls of gray tiled roofs. They turned into a wide courtyard with one mangled, lonely tree of round, golden fruit and round paper lanterns. Below the branches, there was a low table with wooden crates for chairs. They sat down, placed the silver coins on the table, and waited until the man of shadows came, speaking in whispered tongues of ciphers. The man of shadows poured firewater into short glasses. They drank all night and the lady listened to them converse in a language that flowed like a river of rust and wet ash. The glasses would reflect the orange, rose and white lanterns. There was no interpretation or invitation for commentary from her whatsoever. Indefinable and mournful stringed instruments played somewhere possibly far off or nearby. It was a cold dawn of rare but intensely bright stars when the men stood up. The man of shadows returned to the far darkness on the other side of the courtyard. The traveler drained his glass. Exhausted, she asked when the ritual would take place, and he casually answered that it had already. The lanterns burned, and the golden fruit idled from the branches uneaten.