The grand doors of the archives open,

A whispering creak like an ancient welcome.

Bearing a candle flickering with life,

A woman like Mary enters.

Silent eyes search for secrets,

Daring to speak to the tomes.

An angel shadow follows her,

Merging with her as she searches for them.

Feathered black wings rustle in the darkness,

A messenger of death beyond.

Scripts are pulled from the shelves high,

Daring to speak to the tomes.

Dulls thuds on tables are made,

Dust’s blankets are moved with a gust of air.

Found there are eld pages of olden time,

When the ink was made of life’s blood.

Mysteries she solves tonight,

Daring to speak to the tomes.