Scattered throughout the monastery’s courtyard are stone statues—angels, priestesses, and mourners— dripping with slick, red liquid. Foreboding walls enclose the space, and the red-stained windows and bell tower loom like glaring eyes. In the center, an unlit pyre stands with six stakes, each holding a bound, sobbing figure.

A crowd in red robes surrounds them, waving torches and shouting, “Glory to the Crimson Rose! Blood from the thorn, beauty from the petal!”

Atop a staircase, a man in crimson and gold robes watches silently, waiting for the moment to address the crowd.