A bottle of wine.
A mirror.
And blood.

“Mari. Mari! Watch out!”
She stopped as the black car sped in a blur of colours in front of her. She blinked a few times and turned her head to see another blur of colours. Red, black, purple, yellow, pink, green, blue.
And white. A figure in white shone clearly, her brown hair falling past her cheeks. The figure raised a pale palm and Mari could feel her breath against her ear.

Be ready, Mary Magdalene.

“I’M NOT! I’M NOT!” Mari screamed into the air, and collapsed onto the road. Cars screeched to a stop, honks suffocating the air, and pedestrians surrounded her body.
“MARI! MARI!” Tillie screamed, pushing away the viewers and kneeling besides Mari’s body. Mari’s body was convulsing repeatedly, thrusting itself off the ground every few seconds. Those brave enough pulled her arms down as Mari’s eyes rolled in their sockets and spittle with blood trailed down her cracked lips.
Tillie, on reflex, stuffed her sweatshirt into Mari’s mouth, watching as her friend’s tongue was nearly bitten off. Tillie sat there helplessly, watching as Mari’s body continued to convulse rapidly.

Mari? Mariana? Maria? Miriam?

“Miriam?”
She opened her eyes to see a young man wearing a red tunic smiling at her, running a hand through his black, curly hair.
“Yes, Lazarus? It is all right. I just lied down to rest for a little while,” she found herself saying. She rose from the bed, pulling a piece of white cloth around her face, hiding her hair.
“Martha was searching for you,” Lazarus smiled, helping her out of bed. “She wishes for you to help her with the preparations for supper.”
“Thank you,” she nodded as Lazarus let go of her hand. She wrapped her arms around her waist shyly and left the room. She bent down to pick up a bundle of spilt flowers, placing them carefully back into the clay jug.
“Miriam?” a voice called from the room at the end of the hallway, and she hurried down the dusty hallway and into the bustling kitchen. A young woman, on the verge of becoming plump, smiled and gestured to the bread.
“Could you please slice the bread, dearest Miriam?” the young woman asked as Miriam scrambled to grab a knife. “Oh, and do be careful! I believe that the floors are still wet…”
“I will, dearest sister,” Miriam found herself saying without previous thought. Miriam sat down upon a stool and carved the bread steadily, watching the plump young woman pull out three clay bowls and plates. Miriam stood up, wrapping the remainder of the bread in a piece of white muslin, and placed the slices of bread onto each plate.
“Lazarus!” Martha called as the two sisters placed the food onto the wooden table. “Supper!”
“Coming, dear Martha!” Lazarus called, and Miriam found herself grinning as the sheep grazing in the field behind them called to each other loudly.
“Oh the ruckus,” Martha grumbled, sitting down at the table. “I wish Lazarus would quiet them down…”
“…and I am trying, Martha,” Lazarus smiled, sitting down at the head of the table. Miriam stifled a giggle and blushed slightly, keeping her eyes away from her brother.
“Please, let us eat,” Lazarus smiled at the simple spread. Miriam spooned a dish of soup for herself, watching with a wary eye as Lazarus heartily talked with Martha.
Miriam watched as Lazarus moved his head and caught her eye, winking. Miriam jerked back in surprise, and Martha placed a hand on her shoulder.
“Miriam, are you all right? You have been quite jumpy lately…” Martha questioned softly.
“I am all right, sister,” Miriam assured, and they both watched as Lazarus stood up from the table, bowl and plate in hand.
“It may be best you return to bed early, Miriam,” Lazarus offered. “You seem very tired.”
“I am, Lazarus,” Miriam nodded. “Please, Martha, if I may be excused?”
“But of course,” Martha smiled, helping Miriam out of her seat. “I shall come by your room later with a tonic? Perhaps you are becoming ill?”
“I pray not,” Miriam hoped aloud, watching as Lazarus disappeared through the kitchen door. Martha picked up both of their cutlery and followed Lazarus through the kitchen doorway.
Miriam pushed in their stools under the table and down the sandy hallway. She watched as the sun began to set, bright ocre colours blending in with the blue of the sky. Miriam sat on her bed once more, unwrapping her shawl off her head, and lied her head down on the pillow.
And in a blink, her eyes were closed, and a shy smile curled over her face.

Miriam. Maria. Mariana. Mari?

“Mari?” Tillie’s voice rang in her ears as she opened her eyes to no longer see the wooden ceiling, but a whitewashed hospital ceiling. Mari turned her head to the side in surprise, watching an IV line drip a clear fluid into her hand.
“Oh Mari!” Tillie squealed, and Mari looked up to see Tillie wrapping her arms around her head.
“Oh Lord, I was so scared that you were dead!” Tillie cried. “The doctors – they said that you were going to be okay. You just had a seizure.”
Mari, still woozy, sat up uneasily and looked at her hand, which blared with white light for a moment, then softened, and disappeared.
“Was it bad?” Mari asked, and Tillie nodded.
“Did they say that it’ll happen again?” Mari asked, and Tillie nodded once more. Mari looked out the window and nodded slowly.
“I guess I have to take it as it comes,” Mari smiled, watching as the same white figure that had hailed to her from across the sidewalk walked to the bare side of her bed and whispered against her ear.

Forgive me.