By the end of this diatribe, Sir Randolph had resumed his seat on the giant four-poster bed atop its pedestal, purposely designed by the Queen’s architects to evoke an altarpiece against the wall of the vast room. He tenderly stroked his sobbing bride as she expressed her conflicting feelings and thoughts until she was done, and then kissed her tenderly. Then he replied, “Worry not, little one. All that you are experiencing is entirely normal for a woman who has been so long kept from realizing her true nature as the exemplar of Absynthian females. The Holy God imbued each of you with a passionate nature that could only be fulfilled by being brought under the firm hand of a loving man who could help you to control your passions in the way the Scriptures have dictated for over a thousand ye
