"Yes." the elf whispered. "Now, Serrin, I could tell you to go to the cathedral at Notre Dame, or in a hundred other cities throughout Europe and Asia Minor–though Notre Dame is the best example because Paris is the city of love–and gaze on the Black Madonna looking out over her people. It is an image they have never been able to replace with their wretched medieval Virgin, no matter how many times they mistranslated that one, simple little word. Because a virgin is barren and joyless, a symbol only of fear and body-hating revulsion, and the true Madonna is close to the lives and hearts and souls of all people and her spirit infuses them instead of denying the rightful wholeness of their souls. The Magdalene was her priestess, and John her initiate. That’s the heresy. That’s what’s worth a nuclear warhead bearing the Papal seal. And it’s the secret I seeded into all those designs, and I laughed at the popes and their venal servitors who paid me to create those idols of false worship. The secret has always been there for anyone with eyes to see, right in front of the noses of those who would deny her."