Cor Contritum
Cor Contritum is the third book in the Harrow Eternus series. It is currently a work in progress. The following is a sample from the text.
Prologue: The Keeper of Merrax Malveaux
13 October 2008
There has never been a time in my life when I’ve had no other choice but to apologize for such wrongdoing as when I wronged Elizabeth Cain in Paris 1792. Coming to realize that she was, without doubt, the object of obsession for Sixtus made it clear that we were to keep her from him. With this, I tried, and failed, to take her from France and force her to return home—a mistake I will long regret, but that was just the beginning.
What more did come from the many weeks of our reluctant stay did stir in me the constant feeling that she would be in danger in Paris, and yet... I felt I could protect her. That perhaps the only better place for her to be than at home was there, with us. If only this produced in me my need for apology, this entry would be but a line. No, there is more yet.
I do not know the driving force that brought about my words with such intention as to hurt her on the night that she left, but they came from me in that apartment with a feigned emptiness I do regret with every passing hour. Telling her I did not object to her being taken was a falsehood unlike any I’d ever told. The look in her eyes was that of one who had just been struck across the face and it only reminded me that I had done just that to her not so long before. What an anguish I did find in my chest at witnessing the pain of my words while they hit her.
As she left, I wanted immediately to take it back, to swallow my words and hang my head with the weight of its shame. Instead, I sat and thought of Iselle. It wasn’t for long, but long it was enough that when I followed her from the apartment, Elizabeth was gone. I had but a feeling of her presence as I wandered to the river where I now know she was taken, but I was late. I let her walk away from me only to be stolen from the night.
And now I think of what I know and wonder what I do not know; what she endured in her prison because I drove her away. Even today, after speaking with her, after trying to apologize, I know that there may only be one way for me to fix this. But readying myself for such an utterance can only be done in due time.
She said not now, but when? I wait these long hours in a feeling of unrest and find myself in need of making things right. But moreso, I find myself at her door. Time and time again, my fist is clenched in tense and nervous wait to rap upon her door before I turn back for the trees. What the hell am I doing here? Has she seen me? Every question drives me to make myself scarce until new questions arise. ...Does she notice when I’m not around? More words I shouldn’t think—more reasons that I should be sorry.
It is not without shame that I admit here that there is more I should feel sorry for, but do not. It is not within me to relinquish such guilt for so true a feeling.
This is where I write these words, to keep them and remember them, that they may always remind me of the apologies I made necessary—and those that I would never, ever give.