Page 21 of Persephone's Curse
“I’ve always thought of it as ashe,” I said.
“There’s blood on its coat,” Evie continued.
“Pomegranate juice,” I said, and Evie looked startled, like she was surprised to find me next to her. I said it again, and pointed tothe ripe fruit hanging in the tree over the unicorn. “Pomegranate juice.”
“Do you really think so?” she asked.
“Look at her face. She’s not in pain. She’s serene, calm.Waiting. She’s not a captive. She’s in charge of her own fate.”
“But she’schained.”
“But she’s not mad about it.”
“Who in the world is chained and not mad about it?”
“A dog, maybe?”
We’d never had a dog. Dad was allergic and Mom was pretty blanketly against pets. There had been talk of a guinea pig, once, but nobody wanted to be the one to clean its cage.
“Can you believe this was made over five hundred years ago?” Clara, suddenly, on Evie’s other side. “It could just hop right over that fence, too.”
“Break the tree in half with one good yank.” Bernadette, suddenly, on my other side.
“But it doesn’twantto get out,” I said. “Clearly.”
“It’s a metaphor,” Bernie announced.
“How do you figure?” I asked.
“The unicorn can’t see past its own situation. It’s like a person who thinks they’re drowning in water when really, it’s shallow enough for them to stand.”
“Deep,” Clara said. “No pun intended.”
“It’s about all of us being trapped in these situations, these societal constructs, holding ourselves to impossible standards, money is king, working yourself to death is admirable, your prison is your ownmind.”
“It sounds like you’re writing a thesis statement for a freshman-level English class,” I said, and Bernadette punched me on the arm, a little harder than she meant to, I hoped.
“Have you seen the other tapestries?” Clara asked. “Your theory doesn’t really hold up when you walk over there and see the one where four men are surrounding it with spears.”
“There’s always another side to the story,” Evelyn said quietly.
“There are always men with spears,” Bernadette retorted.
“Poor guy,” Clara said sadly. “Are you all ready to go? I’m very hungry.”
“Are you crying, Evie?” Bernadette asked.
“I’m moved by the art,” Evie said, a little dramatically.
“We’ve seen it a thousand times.”
“I’ve also seen you a thousand times and I still like looking at your face.”
“Fair. Meet you back at the car.”
And it was just the two of us again, Evelyn and me, and I saw her suck in an enormous amount of air and hold it for so long my own lungs ached. When she let it out again, all trace of sadness was gone from her face. She turned to me and smiled.
“Ready to go?”
