Giorgio had frozen upon the sight of the Virgin Mary, stunned and bewildered. He had never seen such a sight; though Italy was littered with thousands upon thousands of statues, he had never seen one move. Her face had borne one of the most romantic smiles he had seen, before crumbling to ash. A chilling breeze disturbed the dust, sifting the ash to settle by his feet. He stood, in shock, before his eyebrows creased together in what might have appeared to be rage.
Camilla... Mary would steal her away, and leave me on this Earth? Useless and broken? He scowled, before stomping on a pile of ash. "Puttana!" he muttered under his breath, his eyes wide and his heart racing.
Centuries he had believed in the Virgin Mary, for restoring his life and presenting him with endless love. But what was she truly? A shadow? An elusive woman, bent on his confusion and turmoil? His confidence in her had begun to waver in recent years, and for the first time in ages, he felt a growing loathing toward the Virgin.
Fists clenched, he stared after the group as they ran off. Some part of him wished to join the chase, but his legs refused to comply. Instead, he strode up to the base of where the statue had stood, and began to search for traps, compartments, or any other trickery.