“I don’t mean the ketchup stains. I mean the actual labors themselves. There’s something weird about them, isn’t there?”
“That’s one way to put it.” She crosses to her bed and grabs the gilded frame off the wall. “Here. Look for yourself.”
She hands me the frame, and I put it down on my bed, then put the crumpled list of my labors right next to it.
Penelope’s Labors
Bear an unbearable weight
Solve a riddle
Drink from the river without a name
Find your way through a maze
Remember that which has been forgotten
Weather a lightning storm
Speak a hidden truth
Relinquish that which you believe to be yours
Create a pattern from chaos
Forge an unbreakable bond
Retrace important steps
Rewrite that which must be rewritten
Fifi’s Labors
Find the sacred spirit in Lake Veronise
Perform the ancient dance of Terpsichore
Calm a celestial spirit and write your name in the stars
Find truth in the Trickster’s Dark Mask
Face down the Siren’s Echo
Tame and ride a wild Pegasus
Blossom in the Garden of Second Chances
Find your destiny on the Carousel of Enchantment
Mend the Tapestry of Affection
Fill the Cup of Celebration
Unmask the Midnight Masquerade
Find the notes to the Unheard Melody
I look back and forth between her labors and mine, trying to figure out why they’re so different. Fifi’s are super specific and mine…mine seem like the no-explanation, could-mean-anything version.
