Post by Empress Isabel de Roque on Jan 18, 2022 3:14:15 GMT
In the tiny Eastern Province Village of Aljustrel, there lived three children.
On the 13th of May, 1903, the Girls Jacinta Marto and Lúcia dos Santos, and the boy Francisco Marto, witnessed a miracle, on the small valley of Fátima. On the field called Cova da Iria, where they usually kept their cows, a figure of a woman dressed in white sat atop a little evergreen oak. Among many things, the little shepherds were told about horrors that would befall the world. A Great Evil would befall the Kingdom of the Tholes, a Great Plague sweeping through the World, and finally, Armaggedon.
Lúcia, the only one who could talk with the woman, asked her what could be done to save the world from disaster. She was told to pray, to renounce pridefulness, and to be kind. She was told to pray for the Soul of Magdalenum, that it may one day convert to the true Faith, that of the Lord Jesus Christ.
Rumours Began to quickly spread across the nation, of the three children who could talk with a veiled white lady. Not long after, droves of the curious, perplexed, or even outright incredulous Magdali began to flock to Aljustrel. It was not long before the town more than quadrupled in size. On the 13th day of every Month, the Virgin Mary would show herself to those present. Young Lúcia would interpret her words to the crowd and teach them to pray, the way the Christians did.
Word of these happenings was quick to reach the Palace.
Isabel doubted at first, but then she saw it. Whether they were fever dreams spurred on by her grief, or actual visions, she was not sure. But she saw winged men dressed in white, calling out to her, and speaking words in Latin. Finally, on the 13th of October, Isabel herself travelled to Aljustrel. She personally met with the three children, who were administering to the now humungous crowd of faithful. The youngest, kneeling and praying before a makeshift shrine, reminded her a lot of her late daughter, in a way.
“Your Majesty, welcome to Aljustrel.” Jacinta said. She sounded awfully well spoken for a five-year-old.
“Hello little miss. Mind telling me what you’re all doing here?” Isabel said, with a smile on her face.
“We’re praying.”
“Praying to who, exactly?”
“Well, to God,” Lúcia said, approaching the pair. “Our Lady of Fátima has been teaching us to pray to God.”
“Can you… show me?”
“Of course, take my hand, Your Majesty.”
The little girl turned to the makeshift shrine and kneeled. Isabel did the same. What happened then is still not easy to describe. The Sun itself began to dance in the sky, rocking back and forth, moving closer and farther away, even changing colours. Isabel felt an overwhelming sense of… bliss. The first time she had felt entirely at peace since Beatriz had died. When it was over, both women stood back up.
“What did she say?” Isabel asked.
“She said goodbye.” Lúcia said. “She says she has taught us all she could.”
On the 13th of May, 1903, the Girls Jacinta Marto and Lúcia dos Santos, and the boy Francisco Marto, witnessed a miracle, on the small valley of Fátima. On the field called Cova da Iria, where they usually kept their cows, a figure of a woman dressed in white sat atop a little evergreen oak. Among many things, the little shepherds were told about horrors that would befall the world. A Great Evil would befall the Kingdom of the Tholes, a Great Plague sweeping through the World, and finally, Armaggedon.
Lúcia, the only one who could talk with the woman, asked her what could be done to save the world from disaster. She was told to pray, to renounce pridefulness, and to be kind. She was told to pray for the Soul of Magdalenum, that it may one day convert to the true Faith, that of the Lord Jesus Christ.
Rumours Began to quickly spread across the nation, of the three children who could talk with a veiled white lady. Not long after, droves of the curious, perplexed, or even outright incredulous Magdali began to flock to Aljustrel. It was not long before the town more than quadrupled in size. On the 13th day of every Month, the Virgin Mary would show herself to those present. Young Lúcia would interpret her words to the crowd and teach them to pray, the way the Christians did.
Word of these happenings was quick to reach the Palace.
Isabel doubted at first, but then she saw it. Whether they were fever dreams spurred on by her grief, or actual visions, she was not sure. But she saw winged men dressed in white, calling out to her, and speaking words in Latin. Finally, on the 13th of October, Isabel herself travelled to Aljustrel. She personally met with the three children, who were administering to the now humungous crowd of faithful. The youngest, kneeling and praying before a makeshift shrine, reminded her a lot of her late daughter, in a way.
“Your Majesty, welcome to Aljustrel.” Jacinta said. She sounded awfully well spoken for a five-year-old.
“Hello little miss. Mind telling me what you’re all doing here?” Isabel said, with a smile on her face.
“We’re praying.”
“Praying to who, exactly?”
“Well, to God,” Lúcia said, approaching the pair. “Our Lady of Fátima has been teaching us to pray to God.”
“Can you… show me?”
“Of course, take my hand, Your Majesty.”
The little girl turned to the makeshift shrine and kneeled. Isabel did the same. What happened then is still not easy to describe. The Sun itself began to dance in the sky, rocking back and forth, moving closer and farther away, even changing colours. Isabel felt an overwhelming sense of… bliss. The first time she had felt entirely at peace since Beatriz had died. When it was over, both women stood back up.
“What did she say?” Isabel asked.
“She said goodbye.” Lúcia said. “She says she has taught us all she could.”
