Prayer and Penitence

(originally posted Mar 3, 2009)

Harry returned home from his encounter with the Bishop deflated in spirit. She heard his confession and ordered him to spend the evening reflecting in prayer, but that was not all, oh no. The Lord was harsh but forgiving, and so it seemed the Bishop was too, for Harry would have to be punished for his transgressions.

She had asked for a lock of Harry's hair. He was not entirely sure why, but he had a feeling that is had something to with her mysterious comment about preparing to wear the Lord's crown. An uneasy feeling in his gut told him that the Bishop was going to use the hair in a Theban ritual, and if this were the case, it would not be pleasant. Harry knew only little of the sorcerous rituals, but he knew that none of them were for use on friends. Regardless of what was to come, Harry would be ready.

There was a single window in his haven, in the living room, and it was in front of this window that he knelt. Bathed in the cold light of the moon, he once more took the dark, cherry-stained rosary from his pocket and began to pray.

"Lord, hear the lamentations of the Damned," Harry began, clutching the crucifix tightly in his clasped hands. "I am but a dumb beast in your service, and like a dumb beast, I have strayed from the path ordained for me by You. I am the Wolf among your Flock, Lord, but I have been asleep these past months, unable to frighten the sheep into your arms, and though a damned beast as myself is unworthy, I pray your forgiveness. Punishment has been placed upon my shoulders, and I ask not that it be taken from me, but rather, give me the strength to take this burden, and take it well. Allow me to once more become the righteous terror that guides men's souls to you. It is in your name I pray. Amen."

Unworthy though he is, Harry remains in front of the window. His initial prayer done, he begins to pray the roasry. His lips move silently as his fingers play over the dark, wooden beads until, at last, he comes to the end. Then he repeats the process again, and once more after that. Harry prays every prayer he knows, and when he has done that he repeats his first prayer, steeling his unbeating heart against the punishment to come.

He stays this way for hours, kneeling on the uncomfortable wooden floor in front of the window, until at last he can pray no more. He stops not because he wants to, but because he knows that if he does not, the sun will rise, and he, like his Sire before him, will die. So he goes into the windowless bedroom and lies prostrate, the rosary still clutched in his hands, his lips still moving in silent prayer until the sleep of the dead finally takes him.
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