ave maria, gratia plena

The cathedral looms before her, illuminated by warm, incandescent light, front door propped open in welcome. Bianca watches from her hidden spot between low bushes – watches the crowd trail in, parents corralling small children, the elderly shuffling up frosted stairs, canes clacking against stone. In her mind’s eye, there’s a vision of another cathedral, superimposed upon the scene, where the strangers’ faces are replaced with ones familiar, where the children giggling and chasing eachother around a mother’s coat are the same children she might see in a mirror. Christmas often followed a similar routine – Mamma getting ready at the vanity, pinning back her hair, while Bianca tried to imitate her from the bed. Nico, too, would attempt to copy, but his hair was much too short, and he lost interest quickly – so would Bianca, honestly, but Mamma would always sit her in front of the desk and mirrors and style her hair for her. They’d wear their nice shoes, and Bianca wore her newest dress, and light blue one, from Nonno, with its embroidered white flowers and its matching bow for her hair.orBianca attends Christmas Mass, and reflects on her resurrection