I approach the room, alone, not fully understanding what I was walking into — enshrouded by the innocence of a child. The handstitched ducks on the pockets of my yellow dress cross the threshold with me.
I take a few apprehensive steps. Something captures my attention. Mesmerized, I stand still. A walking version of the Pieta slowly moves in my direction. She is held, cradled, by a beautiful woman whose skin is so black, it resembles polished ebony — the…
