My name is Geraldine DeLaCroix. French Royalty as the world sees it. A prisoner of my own ancestry as I do. There are times when the court, the royal court, appears to be enough. When life seems to overflow with gatherings and balls and senseless musings. With people, rich and richer, powerful and even more powerful. But when all have left, when I wander these endless halls in solitude, when all that is left is the sense that nothing ever really happens despite everyones desparate conviction to the contrary, in these times I imagine this house to be a nunnery and I am in the service of the Lord our God. In these times the silence and emptiness of the long hallways fills my heart with joy for He fills my being completely. There is no space for idle thoughts and petty imaginings. The fulness of His heart is what I hear, His gentle touch upon my shoulder and His kind words whisper in every step I take on the stone floor. In these moments I walk on hallowed ground. In these moments I am so filled with His love that there are no more words, no more earthly memories and nothing I could ever imagine different from this all encompassing experience.
I imagine the first prayer starting at 3:45 AM. The deep sound of the bell from the main tower crawls into my subconscious, awakens me hours before dawn. I lie on my back with my eyes open for a few minutes, trying to penetrate the darkness. My thoughts find Him before my hands find the candle and the matches next to it. There has never been a time when I woke after sun rise or in the light. Not since I can remember anyway. Another day in the service of my Lord. My name is Geraldine DeLaCroix. I am a nun. And this is my life.
