Overture Downs they placed fire-licked pages at the foot of the crown

Well, we're all sinners. Doesn't mean we can't be good, too, Mary said quite matter-of-factly. There was no one free of sin, as it was an integral part of the flesh; just as Poet said, they were no more than flesh granted speech, but Mary thought that the spirit deserved just as much recognition. I think that you're selling yourself short, Poet. Sure, you're a sinner on the surface, but who are you? Why was she called Poet? What did she do to deserve such a title; was Mary in the presence of an artist? She'd always wished that she'd been gifted with a talent, and had yet to realize that her specialty was meant to be in preaching. 

Mary drew in a deep breath and pushed back her shoulders. I'm a mother and a wife, but I had to leave my family behind. All of them -- her children, their fathers -- were resting so peacefully in their graves, their souls frolicking above, so she'd decided that it was time she moved on. Sometimes, she thought that she could hear the voices of either late husband whispering for her to wake up each morning or eat something when she forgot, and Mary listened contently; she felt comfortable knowing that they were near.