There stands a statue made of limescale and sorrow. Mother Mary gazes upward; she is a representation on Earth of all things one must aspire to be, yet she is weary of a role she never chose. She must answer to those above while serving as the figurehead below. She is not the Mother, but merely a replica of her, a role she no longer wants and cannot fulfil, a role she cannot escape. She is cemented to the ground and cast in stone, forever fixing her solemn gaze, destined to endure forever.