She stayed when the others ran. She was the first to see him alive. And for two thousand years, we have let other voices tell her story.
Now, at the end of a long life, an old woman sets it down herself - the whole of it, unflinching, the way it truly was.
Mary of Magdala remembers the bright town on the lake where she was a child, and everything the years took from it: a brother lost to a Roman cross, a mother lost to grief, a town that decided what she was and closed its doors against her. She remembers the long dark that followed - and the day a teacher from Nazareth looked at her, really looked, and did not turn away.
What comes after is the road, and the women who walked it, and a love that remade her. It is the hill where the men scattered and she would not move. It is a garden at first light, the sound of her own name spoken aloud, and the impossible morning she was sent to carry into a world not ready to believe that a woman had seen it first.
The Black Stone and the Light gives the Gospel's most overlooked witness her own voice at last - tender and honest about grief, doubt, and being disbelieved, and, in the end, profoundly consoling. Scripture woven through an imagined life, for anyone who has ever sensed there was more to her story than we were told.