((This takes place within a few days of the conversation between Colleen and Hephaestus in Sublimation: Another Day In ....(NSFW) ))
Church St. in the Old Temple District was a nearly silent place in the wee hours of the morning. Her footsteps echoed on the cobblestones as she walked. Colleen Fenner had much on her mind and her heart was heavy these days. She'd spent most of the last few months in self imposed confinement. Despite the warm summer breezes that flowed around her, she wore a hooded cape. Much like the loose caftans she'd been wearing of late, the garment concealed her form. It allowed her to travel openly, yet, in shadows. They were self created shadows, shadows made from despair and longing.
A light rain began to fall just as Colleen stepped into the vestibule of one of the many Catholic churches in the district. It wasn't surprising that she chose St. Patrick's. Someone exiting the sanctuary allowed the candlelight from inside to be seen. In the moments it took for her eyes to readjust, she lowered the hood and replaced it with a black lace mantilla. Like her grandmother's wedding veil, the lace was made in a rose pattern. While things had changed over time, cleansing of one's soul was still a part of the ritualistic sacraments that were observed by the faithful. She opened the door to one of the confessionals, closed it, and knelt down. The door behind the grill that obscured the priest's view of the penitent's face opened.
Colleen cleared her throat. "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned." She folded her left hand over her right, a silvery band glimmered in the dim light. "I have no idea how long it's been since my last confession or if I've even made a formal one in my lifetime."
"Are you one of the old ones, my child?" the priest asked.
Choked laughter escaped her. "I didn't think priests believed in such things, Father."
"Let's say I like to keep an open mind after arriving here."
"You're not alone in that."
"So tell me, how can I help you?"
She was silent as she considered her words carefully. "I'm in despair, Father." She took a moment to compose herself. "I had a good ....no, a wonderful life. The actions of a mad man chipped away at it. He finally succeeded in using the tools that he exchanged for hammer and chisel to cause much of my life and my heart to shatter." The swallow was audible. "I have a husband, who I loved and love dearly and deeply." Again there was a moment of silence. "The loss of his love has left an emptiness inside me, an open gaping wound that is still fresh. I know from experience the wound will close, eventually. All that means is that it will be assumed that I have healed. There will always be an emptiness underneath what seems to be healed." She twisted the wedding ring on her finger. "It's always been brief shining moments, Father. Like Camelot, you know" I thought this time would be different." This time the momentary silence was broken with a ragged breath. "I was right, but ....this time Camelot will be forgotten. This time it isn.t just the marriage that is failing, this time I have failed my children. That is unpardonable."
"How did you fail them?" There was concern in the man's voice. He'd heard mothers saying they had failed their children as a prelude to confessing to infanticide.
Church St. in the Old Temple District was a nearly silent place in the wee hours of the morning. Her footsteps echoed on the cobblestones as she walked. Colleen Fenner had much on her mind and her heart was heavy these days. She'd spent most of the last few months in self imposed confinement. Despite the warm summer breezes that flowed around her, she wore a hooded cape. Much like the loose caftans she'd been wearing of late, the garment concealed her form. It allowed her to travel openly, yet, in shadows. They were self created shadows, shadows made from despair and longing.
A light rain began to fall just as Colleen stepped into the vestibule of one of the many Catholic churches in the district. It wasn't surprising that she chose St. Patrick's. Someone exiting the sanctuary allowed the candlelight from inside to be seen. In the moments it took for her eyes to readjust, she lowered the hood and replaced it with a black lace mantilla. Like her grandmother's wedding veil, the lace was made in a rose pattern. While things had changed over time, cleansing of one's soul was still a part of the ritualistic sacraments that were observed by the faithful. She opened the door to one of the confessionals, closed it, and knelt down. The door behind the grill that obscured the priest's view of the penitent's face opened.
Colleen cleared her throat. "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned." She folded her left hand over her right, a silvery band glimmered in the dim light. "I have no idea how long it's been since my last confession or if I've even made a formal one in my lifetime."
"Are you one of the old ones, my child?" the priest asked.
Choked laughter escaped her. "I didn't think priests believed in such things, Father."
"Let's say I like to keep an open mind after arriving here."
"You're not alone in that."
"So tell me, how can I help you?"
She was silent as she considered her words carefully. "I'm in despair, Father." She took a moment to compose herself. "I had a good ....no, a wonderful life. The actions of a mad man chipped away at it. He finally succeeded in using the tools that he exchanged for hammer and chisel to cause much of my life and my heart to shatter." The swallow was audible. "I have a husband, who I loved and love dearly and deeply." Again there was a moment of silence. "The loss of his love has left an emptiness inside me, an open gaping wound that is still fresh. I know from experience the wound will close, eventually. All that means is that it will be assumed that I have healed. There will always be an emptiness underneath what seems to be healed." She twisted the wedding ring on her finger. "It's always been brief shining moments, Father. Like Camelot, you know" I thought this time would be different." This time the momentary silence was broken with a ragged breath. "I was right, but ....this time Camelot will be forgotten. This time it isn.t just the marriage that is failing, this time I have failed my children. That is unpardonable."
"How did you fail them?" There was concern in the man's voice. He'd heard mothers saying they had failed their children as a prelude to confessing to infanticide.