Cracked and bloodied feet left an inanimate trail on the snow-laden cobbles behind her.
Mary, followed by the pervasive spirit of a waif, stumbled towards the Priory.
Beneath her shift, was a stomach swollen from a lie.
She did not seek gold for services rendered,
she wanted the one they called Gabriel, and his promises to be kept.
Turned away by his brethren, she lay under a tree, and there in the snow on that bitter night, she gave her gift. The world was silent now; like shadows. The waif cradled her soul, and delivered them both to their maker.