Plague

It opens in a mother’s voice, mother knows what you need, administered like a dose, and then the dread takes over on a drummer boy rhythm. He is coming to get her, he wants her soul, and the question of what she has done hangs half intelligible in the murk.

The question gets asked until the words wear through, do you know what I have done, ending on the only answer, that it cannot be undone. At the last she turns and faces it. You are the most terrible thing I have done, and you will not be undone.