The man either ignores me or doesn’t hear me, for he crouches over the woman and draws the blade of the dagger across her exposed throat. Deep crimson blood spurts in a forceful, fifteen foot arc, spattering the cold, grey flags of the hall floor. The woman rolls over on her back, clutching uselessly at her severed throat as blood seeps thickly through her fingers. She turns her head and I am horrified to see that she is looking directly at me. I can actually see the light of life fading in her eyes as the spurting blood from her severed arteries slows to a trickle.

I can take no more of this carnage and I pull my hand away from the wall. Instantly I am back in the present and breathing hard. Back are the weapons, portraits and suits of armour.