Christine ran quiet and passed unseen over a twilit cobbled plaza. She dared not cry. Real fear with feathers rattled under her ribs and threatened to loose her balance; she could not calm it.
No matter what she was running from, the slick stones slapped smooth and hard into the arches of her bare soles. And the water was shallow, swirling quiet around her feet, so she made hesitant little jumps from one rock to the next, until at last she was forced to wade, and chill her ankles. Behind her she heard nothing.
She came to the doorway in the earth and hurried in, and for a long long moment let her head rest against the cool tunnel wall. And taking a candle she stepped forward, water dripping from the hem of her dress and from the ceiling, looking for the way up. The light brushed wavering over the bones in the walls; she was in the catacombs.
"I shall not fear," she said aloud. Directly above her lay the cathedral; these were the grimacing skulls of the faithful, and Christine would not quail in their company.
But there was a tremor begun in her that would only grow. She tried to hurry onward, but with every moment she felt it swell upward to her heart; her mouth was dry, and her vision fluttered, and the realization came to her that very soon she would be in the Presence.
My Lord, she prayed, you know I have always loved you. No dearer blessing could be mine than to look upon you with my own mortal eyes, and it is more than I could ever deserve: Thy will be done. And she stumbled, clumsy, looking for the way that would bring her to Him.
Sunlight from above glowed through the stained glass, purple and gold limning the spiderwebs of the hallway, dimming the candle in her hand. What am I to see, Christine wondered, fighting to control her heart and breath--will He know me? Will I know Him? Will I see the Son or the Father? And oh, may he greet me as a living man, or must I watch him suffer again on the Cross? Will he love me with these bleeding hands?
Lord, she prayed, I am not ready.
Sunlight roared through a rent in the earth: the stairs led to the open air, to the day, in a courtyard, and the tears strained at the edges of her eyes. What will become of me, she thought, and she went up.
And high above the grass at her feet Christine beheld the Lady. Her gown swirled in the swift breezes of the sea, and the light radiated from Her blessed brow as She held Her windripped blazing torch aloft above the tallest skyscrapers. And Christine caught her breath, She was so beautiful, taller than anything on the horizon--towering over the city.
Christine, Dreaming