Feast of Mary Magdalen
She awoke from a curse of sleep; uncertain that she was truly awake or dreaming of a 'might have been' the demons had denied her. Keeping her eyes closed she waited for the shudder of reality and the shrill laughter that meant she was still forsaken. The world remained but still she did not open her eyes - she had become used to the dark - casting her senses out she felt the warmth of the evening sun weighing down the air in the room; a stillness that suggested a closed door, a curtained window. Voices in the next room; friendly voices sounding back and forth. The tinny clatter of bells and the grumbling of chickens signalled that she was near the back of the house - a storeroom or a workshop perhaps? She opened her eyes. The curtain she had rightly imagined, did not completely shut out the light; feather scraps and dust motes danced in the gentle rays of a setting sun. The light was good enough to see that she was, indeed, in a storeroom of sorts - ...