Page 49 of Sonnets and Serpents
She closed the book decisively, and before she could think better of it, she said, “See? Even an enchanted donkey wants to help other people reunite with their loves. And he’s more helpful in the search than you’ve been.”
Silas chuckled, but it was a dark, low sound, hardly amused. He made a final, decisive note, the scratch of his pen sharp. Then he reached out and flipped her book over, beginning again at the first illustration.
“In a far distant land,” he said, “a group of pixies danced beneath the moon. It was the advent of the lunar year, the most precious and sacred holiday in their tradition, and every pixie in the forest came to celebrate together, from the oldest whose wings no longer fluttered to the newest-born, barely the size of sunflower seeds nestled in their mothers’ arms.”
Eliza meant to cut him off, but she couldn’t—not when his words flowed like a river, sweeping her along despite her resistance.
He turned to the next painting, his voice unfolding the story with it.
“Yet before the moon even crested, a pair of intruders disrupted the celebration. The human couple had been married just that evening, and they demanded the pixies bless their new union. Though the humans were rude and arrogant, they weremet with gracious hosts, and in the spirit of the sacred occasion, the pixies welcomed the invaders to their celebration, with only one stipulation.
“‘You may dance with us beneath the advent moon, and we will bestow upon you a blessing of fortune. But you must not drink any of our wine.’
“The couple scoffed about how anyone could drink from such tiny acorn-shell cups, and they gave their word to abide this rule. However, the man found himself drawn to the wine. The heady and floral scent permeated the air, intoxicating even in fragrance. While his new wife wasn’t looking, he drank a single acorn-cup of it, rationalizing that such a small amount could not hurt anyone.”
Eliza fixed her eyes on the fair-haired man in the illustration, scowling and wishing she could shout at him through the ink.
Silas turned to the next illustration. “The bride woke alone in the forest, and no matter how she searched, she could not find her husband. She blamed the pixies for hiding him and demanded they return him at once, but the pixies only shook their heads. In silence, they mourned tragedy on a sacred day.
“The woman ran through the forest, shouting her husband’s name, until, at last, she collapsed beside a hideous donkey. To her shock, the donkey spoke to her in her husband’s voice. He wept his regret and sorrow, confessing, ‘I drank the wine after I was warned. I brought this tragedy on myself. But the pixies have told me that a kiss from my beloved will free me once more. I am deeply sorry for my mistake, and I will never break another vow. Only give me the chance to prove it.’
“But the wife fled, screaming at the hideous creature to be gone. She would neither kiss nor be married to such a beast. She wished only for the handsome man she had married.”
“She left?” Eliza gasped.
Silas continued without pause. “Barreling into a meadow, thewife found the image of her husband. It was only a ghost, unable to even speak, and an elder pixie warned her it was a trick of magic. If she returned to the donkey, she could save her beloved, but if she chose the illusion, her husband would be forever cursed.
“‘My husband is here,’ said the woman, embracing the illusion.
“From a distance, the donkey watched, and he wept.”
Silas closed the book.
Eliza glared at him.
“What?” he finally asked. “That’s the real story.The Advent Moon.”
“Mine was better,” she said.
“Yours was senseless. Everyone helped each other, and everyone ended up happy. When have you ever known that to happen in real life?”
“It could,” insisted Eliza, but her heart ached. More quietly, she said, “Itshould.”
“Besides, your version was as inconsiderate as the couple’s intrusion on the pixies.”
She gaped. “How do you mean?”
“Your version ignored the husband’s suffering. The real story honors it.”
“I think he would have preferred not to suffer!”
“But he did.” Silas tapped the book. “It’s right there on the page. The least we can do is not look away.”
Seizing the book, Eliza held it to her chest, as if she could protect fictional characters from a real threat. “Howdareyou. You ignored my plight and Henry’s. Every time we’re in the city, you walk past the beggars and the starving people along with everyone else. You don’t care about suffering!”
Silas shot back, too quickly to be anything but defensive. “The real question isn’t about caring. It’s about whether you’re holding to an illusion at the expense of reality.”
Eliza stood with such force she overturned her chair. She fumbled and righted it, still clutching the book.
