To the Magdalene’s right, hobbled the Wife of Herod’s steward, bereft of jewels and wrapped in a plain robe which could not hide the boils that once oozed from her flesh. We could not look upon her for chance her uncleanliness infected us. For it was said she was once possessed of evil spirits.
To her left, the Widow spilled tears down her gaunt cheeks, her grief filling our hearts like the hymns the Twin sang on our pilgrimages. As she was the mother of our Messiah, we consoled her with our blessings. She greeted us with kisses upon the cheek. “Do not lament. The news is joyful. My son hath risen,” she said.
The ground trembled again. We formed a circle around the women, shielding them from the dust clouds and plummeting detritus, and moved as one entity toward the ravine that led
