"I know she's me but..." Mary sighed. "To be completely honest? That part of me... it utterly terrifies me. I make jokes about it and roll my eyes but every time it's over I just start crying in relief. Because what if one day I never turn back to myself and I become her? I wouldn't even know about it. It's like she's lingering over me with this threat of annihilation." Mary shook her head and took a long drink from her glass. Then she gave a small self-conscious laugh. "I've never told anyone that before."

She cleared her throat, trying not to think about that idea of the Other Mary. "There's nothing written about my life before I met Jesus," Mary said, "but I sort of remember things. Although I don't know if 'remember' is right, because I don't know if I ever really lived. Sometimes I'm sure that I was born and lived and died, and other times I'm sure that it was only a story people made up to help themselves. Either way, I came from Magdala Nunayya, a town in the Middle East on the shores of the sea of Galilee. I don't remember any childhood nor do I remember any family I had. I think I had sisters, maybe. I don't know who taught me to speak out, I only know that while Jesus respected me for it and encouraged it, there were others of his close followers who hated that he'd let a woman walk with them." She shrugged.

"I know you never had a childhood," Mary said, "you were born as a warrior against your sister from the first moment, right?"