Introduction

It is for her that I dip my pen and begin a memoir.
    But how to capture the every detail of a life so complex, so short-lived? I am no God with ink, nor have I ever produced a thing worth printing, but I must try for the sake of my heavy heart. I must let her spirit live through these words.
    Nothing I have done in my past has been noble, but I cannot change what has already been done. Now I write only to remember, not to receive. And if I am destined to die in grief and woe, then let it be. The praise belongs to only one, and her story is the story I tell.

The story of my dear Élisabeth.

. Ӝ .