I hurry down cobbled roads, the air stale with the aroma of death. Beggars and hand-workers alike lie against the various houses, their faces feverish. Coughs echo; people cry; grief pervades the streets. This is Death's symphony. The last hours approach for many; in a doorway, a woman cries about her lost baby, her eyes red and patchy.

It seems like a long time since Constantinople last suffered such misery.

A church lies, drowsy, near the centre of the city. A priest stands in front of it, his hands clasped before his chest, the fingers pointing towards a dreary sky. "Deus," I hear him say over and over. He turns in my direction as my feet propel me towards him.

"My son is dying," I whisper. The world is a haze; I can't look him in the eyes for fear that tears will spill down my dirty cheeks.

"God punishes us for our sins," the priest whispers back, and I bow my head. I know which sins I have committed - will God punish my son as a result? Does he not love us anymore? Where is God in this?

I feel bad for thinking such sinful thoughts, but the questions remain true. Is there any help for us? Where is our cure?

Shifting my feet agitatedly, I leave the priest behind. Someone coughs at my feet: a haggard woman with straggly, brown hair, whose legs are sprawled out on the cobbles. I almost trip over her as I tug some fabric up around my nose. I hurry back home.

What if Adri died while I was gone? My dear son... Was he not golden enough to live longer than his five years?

My door opens easily, creaking quietly. Adri lies on a hard, wooden surface, his face veiled by the shadows. I am about to say, "It's alright," but I stop myself, because those are useless, meaningless words.

"Mum," he whispers. "What is happening to me?"

"God is strengthening you by giving you a challenge," I lie. Adri will never get stronger, never impress a girl, never have a family, I think. I force a smile, but it is a perfunctory move.

"Why?" Adri's voice is a mere wisp of what it used to be. It is raw, as if his throat is being scratched by rocks on the inside.

For a moment, I pause. "Ask God," I say finally, but I don't dare hope for Adri's question - my question - to be answered.

Adri will die, and the thought is like a stab in the heart. I swallow my pain - I know how many people are suffering, and yet we are all powerless.

As powerless as minions beneath a tyrant's command.