Thy Immortal Love

Thy Immortal Love
clar380 2006-12-08 01:49 0
Thy Immortal Love
By Clar380 and Ash (mainly me, lol)

Chapter One , Part 1
The Convent

?We must pray for him,? an old wrinkled brow of Sister Eglatine?s rose in a weary sigh, hands clasped in prayer with her newly-made nun beside her. A man in fever lay tossing in a crude wooden bed that rocked on its braces and creaked loudly; in sync with his agonising moans.
?Canst we do nothing sister?? The young nun asked, bowing her head in avoidance of Sister Eglatine?s stare that often seemed to penetrate the privacy of ones mind. The old woman turned her back to the man?s bed, dusted her black and white robes and set her ankh-cross gracefully across her breast.
?Does thou not believe in the power of god?? She growled resentfully at the young nun and took her leave in long-quick strides so that her robes swept the dusty floors.
She yelled once more, ?leave him be. Shall he be judged at the seat of god!?
The young nun clasped her hands in a quick prayer, crossed herself and then left, rather reluctantly, often stopping to look back in-case he regained consciousness and asked for help. But no plea came, and then she left, closed the sick-room?s massive oak doors behind her.
As she left she said, ?Thy death would be so horrible??

A crudely built wooden chandelier hung ominously from the thickly wooden-thatched ceiling, hoisted by oddly dented and rusting chains. The very fat candles flickered and glowed; scarcely lighting the room. The windowless room was laden with dust that had gathered for over a decade and only a bed and a table draw furnished the darkened room.
The flickering light of a candle pierced through a crack in the door; shadows of feet and robes told that someone was coming. The door swung noiselessly and the young nun came in, carrying a candle holder; her robes dirty and her headpiece out of place. Her small footsteps were muffled by the thick layer of dust on the floor and her skirt of her robe growing thick with it.
She stood a few paces from the feverish man?s bed, hands tightly sealed around her ankh-cross, praying for his recovery.
?Thy will be done, for thoust is they merciful god. Thine must be thy greatest burden,? she continued, ?thou spare him from pain and suffering, his heart hath come hither to die?? She stopped, as though expecting an answer, tightening her grip on her ankh-cross as if to squeeze the answer from it but nothing came
She kneeled on the floor, arms flung out and head bowed. She began weeping for the frozen man whose skin was far from lively and breathing laboured.

More to come.



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