Chapter 7
“Whom will you cry to, my heart? More and more lonely, your path struggles as through incomprehensible mankind. All the more futile perhaps for keeping to its direction, keeping on toward the future, toward what has been lost.”
—Rainer Maria Rilke
Grigori leapt from the wing-backed chair and rushed to his bedchamber, flinging the door open. His heart was pounding as he searched the bedroom, looking for any signs of danger.
The light from the hall cut a bold path into the darkness, exposing Madelyn’s body on the bed. She was alone; no one else was in the room. He exhaled in relief until he realized she was still in distress. Madelyn was tangled in the sheets, her hands clenching and unclenching. Soft whimpers escaped her as she thrashed about. The sound tore at his heart.
He
