The Clear Water Psalms

“A crime by itself punishes its criminal, and a sin by itself damns its sinner.”

Onslaughts of stormwater poured down the grand window. Rain lashed at the stained glass, storming forth from the imperceptible darkness of the turbulent night. The voice amongst the shadows spoke.

“Those fools who pursue freedom are enslaved by their own law, and punish themselves more cruelly than a ruthless master, and damn themselves to torment more terrible than a daemon’s scourge.”

A salvo of rain beat down on the window, the muted crash of water striking glass filling in the moment of silence.

“Far more terrible, to be sure, for the subject of a daemon’s torment scorns the daemon, but the subject of self-torment has no one to scorn but themselves. To scorn, that is, to survive.”

Such were the words spoken by the silhouette of Lady Beatrix, who rested upon her throne with her back to the window, upon which slews of rain ran like a cascade. She sat with such poise that it seemed as if even the storm raging behind her was no more than another slave under her command. A flash of lightning filled the room, revealing her fierce visage. Her golden-brown eyes glared down at me. Me, who knelt at the steps leading up to my mistress. The fearsome Lady Beatrix, who ruled the marches of Genova.

Yes, those were the words Lady Beatrix spoke to me. Me, alone, for I was unique among her minions, and the circumstances of our first meeting were of the kind that bound our hearts together, that is to say, violently skewered together, though to deny the presence of romantic feelings would also be inaccurate.

Circumstances of the kind that involved me trying to run from my hardships and resulting in me running from my homeland, of the kind that involved me trying to stumble meaninglessly through life and resulting in me stumbling upon a goddess. Indeed, they were circumstances of those kinds.

Without Lady Beatrix, my life would be worthless. Weightless, living with no responsibilities, and mirthless, living with no joy; Weightless and mirthless, therefore, worthless. Worthless to others and worth less to myself.

To my mistress, I served a purpose; I affirmed her existence, as she did mine. People must rule and be ruled in order to have a worthy existence, and if there was a single truth to be said, it was so:

“People can never rule themselves.”

“Precisely so; Of those who try to rule themselves, not one of their lives has an ounce of meaning to them. Living without meaning; To me, not so different from being dead.”

“Being dead... There was a man whom you once knew who, though now dead, ruled himself in his life, was there not?”

My mistress glowered at me, eyes glinting in the darkness.

“So there may have been. Live like a fool, and go die like a fool. I weep, or really, I weep not.”

With those words to conclude the night of discourse, I stood to return to my quarters. So it was that a crime by itself punished its criminal, and a sin by itself damned its sinner. The crime of desertion, and the sin of freedom; Punished to be worthless, damned to be worthless.

As I was leaving, the sound of thunder filled the room- No, not thunder, but rather the sound of somebody knocking on the door of the palace. Then, the doors flew wide open. There, from the throne hall, gazing down at the entrance on the ground floor, there stood a man clad in armour, slick and dripping from the rain.

Though he stood far away, I could make out his face when I squinted. The man who stood at the entrance to Lady Beatrix’s palace; It seemed to be a man whom she once knew, who, though supposedly dead, stood there in the flesh. No, not in the flesh, but only bones, and not dead, but undead. His jaw lowered, and out came a voice raspy like the storm winds.

“Free yourself.”