ime seemed to stop. The air was still, thick with anticipation, as if the very fabric of reality was holding its breath. Jesus, radiant and divine, turned His gaze directly upon Enza. For a moment, the Valley of Jehoshaphat was silent, the eyes of every angel, every soul saved and condemned, fixed on this one, small woman who had dared to stand against the will of Heaven itself.
Jesus' voice was soft, yet it echoed across the valley with the weight of eternity. "This was not written. This is not to be."
Enza, her frail form still standing tall, met His gaze without flinching. Her voice, though tinged with the exhaustion of a lifetime, rang clear. "Yes, it was. I have fed the hungry, clothed the naked, all that. You're supposed to tell me, 'good job.'"
Jesus' expression was unreadable, a mixture of sorrow and something far colder. "You have taken the Mark. There is no salvation for you."
"Sounds like one of them paradoxes," Enza said, shrugging as if it were a minor inconvenience. "Well, You're all-knowing, You sort it out. I'm leaving."
A murmur rippled through the crowd, but Jesus remained unmoving, His face unreadable. "I could disappear you with a thought."
Enza's eyes narrowed, her voice sharpening with the steel of years spent surviving in a world of cruelty. "You killed 80% of humanity. I don't put it past You to kill one more. But here's the thing: if you do that now, everyone who's left will see it. You'll begin Your millennial reign with an act of injustice in front of everyone. Not a good start, is it? People will remember."
Jesus' gaze darkened, His power palpable in the air. "If I will it, they will forget."
Enza's wrinkled face broke into a knowing smile, a smile that carried the weight of a lifetime's experience. "Then why not just give everyone a lobotomy? I was a young woman when they did that in hospitals, you know. To kids who acted up. Wives who talked back. I remember the stories. Come on, do it. Lord over a bunch of vegetables until the sun burns out."
The tension in the air was unbearable, the weight of divine authority pressed down on Enza like a storm on the horizon. But she stood firm, unwavering, her eyes piercing through the divine radiance with the clarity of someone who had lived through the worst the world had to offer.
But it is not written what Jesus' answer was.
For the briefest moment, the universe seemed to hold its breath. Then, time resumed.
Enza turned away from Jesus, her steps deliberate and calm. She thanked those who had stood with her, shaking hands, exchanging a few last words, as though the fate of the universe wasn't hanging in the balance. The Christians who had embraced her earlier stepped back, uncertain, but they did not stop her.
With one final, piercing glance at Jesus—one that spoke volumes, though not a word was exchanged—Enza silently walked away. Her small frame disappeared behind a rocky outcropping, her figure swallowed by the barren landscape of the valley.
Only after she was out of sight did the prophetic timeline resume. The earth quaked once more, and the chasm in the ground lurched forward, swallowing the condemned as had been foretold. The angels continued their grim work, and the saved on Jesus' right prepared to enter the Millennial Kingdom . But the memory of what had transpired, of the woman who had faced down prophecy and divine judgment, lingered like a specter.
No one would speak of it, but none could forget it.
And as Jesus ascended to His throne to begin His millennial reign, the whisper of a challenge left behind by an old woman echoed in the minds of those who had witnessed it.
"Right isn't something you are" it seemed to say. "It's something you do."
And so, the Kingdom began—its first day not quite one of unchallenged glory, but with the quiet defiance of a promise kept and a woman who had simply walked away.