maria†mireille

Beyond the last village lamp, where the road climbs towards ruined towers and moonlit chapels, a pale figure sometimes appears beneath the stained glass. At first there is only the silhouette: black lace, white ribbons, a small parasol, and the glint of silver beside a guttering votive flame, motionless as a doll while shadows gather at her feet. She moves with the poise of one accustomed to cathedral bells, winter roses, incense and candlelit rooms, while old corridors seem to answer her footsteps with whispers just beyond hearing...