His mother is praying the rosary when Ezio enters her room. Quietly, he walks to the gilded feather box, making enough noise that she can hear him. The feathers he picked up on his way home from Venezia still smell like salt from the sea, even though he's washed them. After placing the feathers in the box (five this time), Ezio joins his mother on his knees by her bed. Maria places her right hand on his still gloved hands. Her hands are so soft, so weak, so frail, nothing like the mother he used to know. But she's touching him, doing more than staring blankly into the middle distance, and Ezio can't help but feel grateful.
She continues to count her prayers on the rosary that Giovanni bought her right after they were married. Ezio stays with her as his mother starts on the next set of Ave Marias. Ezio doesn't believe, not after all he's seen, all he's done. Maria does, though, and that's all that matters. So he stays with her, and even joins in the prayer for her sake.
Ave Maria, they say together, gratia plena, Dominus tecum...
I was lying in bed and typed this up on my phone. I'm glad I did, I like how it turned out. I have a vague idea for another Ezio-centric one. This has only been proofread by me.
The prayer is in Latin because I'm pretty sure having Mass in Latin is standard practice in the Renaissance and because I already knew it from taking Latin in high school. I think it's very fitting for Maria to be praying the Ave Maria. I'm not religious, but I've always liked that prayer. I have a soft spot for moms.