Denys entered the Great North Door of the magnificent Westminster Abbey.
Since her first visit at age four, the resplendent shrine enchanted her. The Great North Door"s gaping arches soared high, flanked by stone pillars, beaten by age into a rustic beauty. Subdued light spilled through rows of arched windows on either side of The Nave, caressing each corner and fold of every carved tomb. The hollow recesses of intricate design allowed radiant fragments to peek from the shadows in immortal splendor.
She gazed up at the arched ceiling"s fan vaulting. Her feet whispered over smooth stone slabs carved with names and lifespans of the long dead whose bones reposed in the vaults below—kings, queens, and royal infants carried away with their first breaths. The ancient carvings danced in time wi
