Hesse, May 21 1500

The tears were dry now. The heart keeps beating but there is nobody at the other side of the door. Wilhelm was devastated. Once again, God had decided to reap a good soul from this Earth, to join him in paradise. Yolande, Wilhelm’s beautiful wife, was there, in the coffin.

Her hands clasped around a beautiful oak rosary, carved by a monk for their wedding, and her body covered in the petals of the most beautiful roses in the Estate, grown by the Landgravine herself.

— “Why, my good bishop, has God decided to punish me so? Is it to test my resolve? See if my will is truly made of iron, as I have claimed it to be for so long?” Asked the Prince, his hands weak. He had fasted once more, and, once more, God hadn’t listened to his rumbling stomach.

— “Without a shadow of a doubt, my Prince. Surely you remember the story of Job?” Said the bishop. His jowls moved about as if he was an old dog. Wilhelm often joked with himself about it.

— “Of course. It is just truly tiresome to hold firm against this onslaught of misfortune and disaster. My house depends on my faith in God.”

— “Most certainly, my Prince. It will all be fine, trust me.”

The day after, Wilhelm woke up in his empty bed. Beside it, an empty crib. Yolande enjoyed sleeping with the child right beside her, even though it wasn’t proper, really. Regardless, it doesn’t matter now. There is no more wife. There is no more son. There is only the Landgrave, walking about the property without a definitive course.

After about the third day, Wilhelm stopped again during his morning walking routine. He looked at the garden, and then recalled how Yolande and Wilhelm were buried side by side. Mother and son.

“I’ll make you both proud. I promise.”