Disclaimer: The story here is non-profit and for purely entertainment purposes; nor is it affiliated to other publishers. The plot belongs to me. Name for character comes from an Ovidian heroic epistle referencing a 12th century happening in Paris.


Her feet move sluggishly over the floor, arms moving slowly by her side; in all appearances Eloisa is a study of the dreariest disposition. A sigh escapes, the sound heavy and jarring in the quiet apartment.


The microwave beeped again, signaling that the frozen food she had placed inside was finished. She is in no hurry to eat, she is in no hurry to do anything.

I need to study, Eloisa thinks, mechanically taking the tray out of the microwave and fetching a fork to weakly stir the contents of her food, I need to focus.

She pictures in her mind the goal. She can see herself walking into the testing center.

Picture yourself murdering the test.

The words of one of her instructors comes unbidden to the forefront of her mind. She imagines how she would feel if she succeeded. Her lips quirk up into a small smile as she sees her imagined self leaving the testing center. Eloisa feels elated; it has been so long since she felt this elated.

Be realistic.

The words sound like a gong. A great sound that crashes through her fantasy. Or maybe it is a pebble, thrown into the surface of a pond and destroying a flimsy dream. Eloisa cannot decide which but then again, her mind is in turmoil. The rush of elation and its subsequent departure leave her feeling light-headed, and she wants to sit down. She wants to cry. She does neither.

Eloisa does this every morning.

Dangled hopes, new and old, strung up like a macabre sacrifice; a reminder of what she never got a hold of, and probably never would.

In these deep solitudes and awful cells,

Where heav'nly-pensive contemplation dwells,

And ever-musing melancholy reigns;

What means this tumult in a vestal's veins?

1-4, "Eloisa to Abelard"

End Part I