Nora was prepared to die—or she thought she was anyway; that much was clear to The Master.
Was she prepared to live? That was less clear.
She had taken his two-pronged violation with enthusiasm.
She had eaten the pain like candy; she had lustily sucked down the pleasure.
She was willing to martyr herself for him, make her precious blood her final gift.
But The Master had waited for Nora for a long time—lifetimes before her birth, he had waited; he had watched over her from afar; he had guided her sexual and spiritual development, making himself little more than a scent that wafted through her life.
And now, for the next step in her initiation, was she willing to live?
Would she proudly take the place in The Master’s court, where he had known, back into antiquity, she belonged?
Dying, The Master well knew, is the easy part—for most, anyway.