Turn your affections to God, he advises, and her hands clench hard around the heavy wooden cross at her throat. Direct your love to our lord and saviour Jesus Christ, for it is he, not I, who had loved you all this while. How foolish he is, to think that love is a thing that can be controlled. She turns her eyes heavenward, and sings the hymns with her sisters, she clenches her hands around the beads of her rosaries, and prays until her voice is hoarse. Our father who art in heaven, she whispers on nights lit with dripping tallow. Hallowed be thy name. Let me loose from this love, o Lord. Let me loose and let me be free, turn my heart from this mortal man and let me serve you, entire. The songs come out hollow from her throat, and God does not fall within her heavy, and filling as her love. God leaves her empty after prayer, cold after confession, and she closes her eyes, thinks: please.