Peter and Evera: Prologue

                                                                Prologue
      Evera stared across the wide expanse of lawn, breathing in the sweet scent of lilac and many other flowers. The ground was covered with them; marigolds, roses, lilacs, tulips, an array of beautiful blossoms, each one more colorful and sweet than the last. She began to gather them, placing them in the handwoven basket at her side. She adored flowers. She thought them to be a universal luxury, something that any man could enjoy, whether he be rich or poor. She was especially fond of them because she fell under the latter category.
      Evera looked out across the wide field, happy to be there once more. Her mother had forbidden her from visiting the large French monastery, telling her "not to bother herself with such religious hypocrites," but Evera didn't care. She rarely disobeyed her mother; the poor girl thought it was nearly a criminal offense, quite unnatural for a fifteen year old girl. But Evera could not help but go everyday to the old church. It seemed to call to her, with its big oak doors and large, steep chapels, emancipating deep tenors of bells and organ music. With huge walls of burgundy brick, it loomed over the rolling hills of the pasture in which she now stood, its large stained-glass windows shining in the bright sunlight. Two towers stood , elevated form the ground, on each side of the big building, a pointed hat made of gray tile topping each. Stone gargoyles loomed overhead, staring solemnly at a smiling Evera down below.
      Suddenly, as if answering the girl's secret prayer, a hymn fabricated with organs and deep, baritone voices. The melody wrapped itself around her like a snake, engulfing her in its rhythm. Her limbs began to dance, matching the notes and sound of the instruments from within the chapel. She began to hum along with the tunes, squeezing a flower stem between her toes. She kicked her foot high in the air, grabbing the flower as she did so. She smiled, laughing at herself as she bounded through the flowers on her bare feet, glancing down occasionally to watch out for bees. The music rang out through the hills, and Evera danced on.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- He was watching her again. Her form was small from the his far away window perch. His elbows leaned against the cool, stone sill of the tower window, and he sighed. What was wrong with him?
      He had watched her, nearly everyday, for the past two weeks. She came each afternoon, picking flowers and dancing to the loud church music. She was about his age, he observed. A very pretty brunette, with peasant clothes exposing her socially status. A girl at about marrying age...no, why should that matter? He must not think of such things. He was a monk, forever dedicated to the servitude of the Lord. For a boy of only fifteen, Peter was surprisingly steadfast in his vow of chastity.
      Many of the other boys had been seen sobbing on confession days, ashamed at their sin  of unholy thoughts. Peter was far to absorbed with his duties in the courtyard to think of women in such a  vulgar way. Sighing, he picked himself up from the windowsill, kicking himself as he went. He had stumbled upon her by chance one morning when walking past the window, and he had been captivated by her movements. Everyday he promised himself never to come to that window again, but time and time again he broke his vow.
      "Why" was the question. "Love" was the answer.
                                                                                          ~~~