She knelt, nearly alone post-mass in the sanctuary she had taken spiritual refuge in nearly every day of her life. Her hands clasped together with her rosary comfortably, familiarly, intertwined in them. But Maria was not praying the rosary today. She had been deeply in thought since the decree. Surely she was hopeful that unification may put an end to the unjust hatred, but she was not so blind to believe that all would be willing to lay down their fight so easily. Maria feared it would only tear their city apart. But perhaps it meant unity. Perhaps it meant that there would be no sides to choose from and therefore some sort of retribution for her family. Perhaps it meant peace. And for that, Maria prayed. She prayed for the Bianchi’s, that they are being lead in the direction of grace and that their hearts are open and good, for the Lombardi’s and the Giordano’s, and all who follow them, that they all may be delivered from the evil of hatred, she prayed for those she held dear, names occasionally escaping her lips in a hushed voice. Maria prayed for her siblings, for the well being of their city, for the poor, for those in darkness who have lost their way, for her own health and strength.
She continued to pray, mind far from the world as she spent time with her God. In times of uncertainty, she often got lost in it. Maria did not hear the approaching footsteps nor the words spoken to hear, not until she had missed a fair amount of what was said. Her eyes opened, hands retreating as she broke from her stance. “I do apologize, I was in prayer. What is it that you were saying? Am I needed for something?”