خاتمه

Epilogue

Little Traces

Soon after our story ended, the woods were vacant again. A few years passed and the moss and the earth reclaimed what was left of the mill.

History forgot Vidal, but it also forgot Mercedes, Pedro, Dr. Ferreira, and all the others who sacrificed their own happiness and sometimes their lives to fight fascism. Spain stayed under the regime of Franco for decades and the allies did betray the rebels because they didn’t consider them useful allies against their new enemy, the Soviet Union.

As for Ofelia, the morning after she died a small pale flower sprouted on the branch of the old fig tree she had freed from the Toad. It grew in the exact spot where Ofelia had hung her new clothes to keep them safe while she fulfilled the Faun’s first task. The petals of the flower were as white as the apron her mother had made for her and at the center of the flower a yellow sun full of pollen and life emerged.

A few years later a poacher came past the burned-down mill and the labyrinth. He couldn’t resist stepping through the stone arch and lost himself in the ancient corridors until he was worried he’d never find his way out. But finally the labyrinth led him back to the arch and he felt so tired that he lay down under the fig tree, which by now was in full bloom and festooned with flowers and leaves.

The poacher fell asleep in the gentle shade and in his dreams he heard a story—about a princess birthed by the moon but in love with the sun. He returned to his village and told everyone who listened that the ancient tree had whispered him a story and that it ended in this manner: And it is said, that the princess Moanna returned to her father’s kingdom, and reigned there with justice and a kind heart for many centuries. That she was loved by her people and left behind small traces of her time on earth visible only to those who know where to look.

It’s always just a few who know where to look and how to listen, that is true. But for the best stories, a few are just enough.