He wondered how such a pretty thing could be so miserable, and he felt ultimately inadequate by not being able to lend her assistance, or at least, his shoulder for her to cry on. He didn't know who this young woman was but he felt as close to her as he's ever felt to anyone. Somehow he empathized with her even though he didn't know what her troubles were.
He felt miserable now.
Several times he wanted to call out to her but he knew that if his presence was discovered there, by some coenobite, it would mean the end of his life, and it would mean great trouble to his host for harbouring a sinner.
He thought to climb down the tree, by the terrace, and then approach her with his help, but his physical condition still prevented him from such over-exertions.
So he just stood there on the terrace, blending into the shadows, as if he was one himself, and continued to watch the lovely woman below as she sat all alone with the melancholy hugging her moonlit face.
Lloyd took a drink from his glass that he was holding. When it caught the light of the moon, it twinkled like a diamond set by an open fire. Mercedes didn't notice the moon reflecting off Lloyd's glass while she sat on the marble slab.
The night was beginning to take on a chill. Mercedes' short bursts of breath were illuminated by the moonlight. The breaths quickly passed in and out of her, in strangled gasps.
She whimpered, cutting the delicate music emanating from the house and cutting a notch into Lloyd's already pained heart.
Lloyd was over-head and yet he wasn't there, and he watched the beautiful young woman destroy her own spirit.
He wished that he knew her thoughts and yet he couldn't imagine what they could be. Little did he know the pain that her heart and soul were struggling to overcome. Little was he aware of the agonies that gnawed away at her, from inside — put there by the great god of the land, the ArchBishop.