They felt like her.
LikeApril Evans, maybe for the first time in her life, and even her horoscope this morning had said as much.
This week, you’ll face a mirror, and you’ll have to decide whether or not you like what you see. Is it time for a change? Or is it time to embrace and celebrate the reflection that has always been there?
Madame Andromeda’s words flitted through April’s mind as she and Daphne picked up their pace down the hall. Daphne squeezed her hand tighter, smiled at her, and then April realized all those butterflies weren’t nerves. They were excitement. Because she wanted Daphne to see her too. See what April saw in the mirror. See the person becoming and unbecoming and then becoming again in the journey of the tarot.
Fool’s Passage.
That was what April had decided to name her series, twenty-two illustrations on her favorite 9x12 vellum/medium-textured paper. From the Fool to Death to the World, April had poured the story of her life into every illustration, then used oil pastels to saturate the dreamy images, each piece with a different three-color theme.
She loved her pieces.
She loved them,andshe observed them with a certain amount of longing, because the life she’d lived…well. It was beautiful, but she wanted more.
So much more.
As the studio came up on their right, April’s heart picked up even more speed, but stuttered when she saw the door was already open, the light on inside. Only three people had a key to this room—her, Daphne, and Mia, and April couldn’t imagine Cloverwild’s owner hanging around the art studio at nearly midnight.
“Who—” April started to say, but cut herself off as they walked into the room, stopping short as though she’d been slapped.
A fountain of dark hair.
That was the first thing she saw, and that was all she needed. After three years, April still recognized her—the way she stood with her spine just past ninety degrees, the sharp angle of her shoulders. Even with her back to them, April could tell one arm was tucked across her chest, the other bent and resting atop it, her fingers barely touching her mouth.
Daphne gasped, a sound loud enough to grab the woman’s attention. She turned to look at them, dressed in a white silk blouse tucked haphazardly into dark-wash jeans, but still in a way that looked couture and refined.
“Elena,” Daphne said, pressing a hand to her stomach.
Elena lifted her chin, her dark eyes flicking to April only once before going back to Daphne.
“Hello, my love,” she said.
And with those three words, April felt herself disintegrating, as though she was made of sugar and had been left out in the rain.
Hello, my love.
That was how she used to greet April, but she wasn’t talking to April this time. April glanced at Daphne, who looked a little green, but who had also dropped April’s hand and couldn’t stop staring at their ex.
“Happy birthday,” Elena said, then waved her hand at Daphne’s first painting, set up on an easel at the front of the room. “I see you’ve been busy.”
“How did you…What are you…” Daphne spluttered.
“You stopped answering my calls or texts,” Elena said coolly. “And it’s your birthday. I had to see you.”
You stopped answering…
Youstoppedanswering…
April blinked as the meaning of those words settled around her.
“I got in a few hours ago,” Elena said, “but the owner didn’t know where you were and wasn’t comfortable letting me into your cabin. She said I could wait here. They’re fully booked, apparently.”
“And you found my painting?” Daphne asked. She still hadn’t taken a step toward Elena. But neither had she glanced at April.
Not once since they walked into the room.
“I got bored,” Elena said, then looked at the piece again. “It’s really extraordinary. I knew you had it in you.”
