Ekphrasis of “A Girl Reading” by Patrick MacDowell, 1837, National Gallery of Ireland
Willow’s life was filled with commodities. She had people who attended to her needs, a proper education, three filling, nutritious, and tasteful meals every day, and clothes tailored to fit her body. The marble walls of her mansion were surrounded by a vast garden, filled with trees that shared her name and her secrets. Objectively, Willow had everything she could’ve asked for.
There was one thing that no amount of money could buy, though. Willow had no siblings or mother, and her father was always travelling, working his life away instead of watching his daughter grow up. They had servants, but none of them cared enough to try to get to know her. The house, built on top of a hill that separated it from all surrounding towns, was as lonely as the girl, cursed to sorrow for eternity. No neighbours or passersby. Boredom was Willow’s worst enemy as well as her most loyal accomplice.
Her father returned from his travels once every fortnight, bringing her a new book every time as a way of appeasing the guilt of absence. So without a lot more to do, Willow had learned to borrow life experiences from the characters that starred them. In her mind, she’d sailed the seven seas with pirates and navigators and mermaids. She’d met handsome knights that proved their chivalry, smart fairies that brought together opposing kingdoms, and powerful wizards wielding staffs of enchantment. She’d explored rainforests, deserts, and outer space without leaving the comfort of her house, which turned into a blank canvas for her imagination. But reading about them was not enough. She wanted to experience adventures for herself. Oh, what she would have given to be one of the brave main characters she was always reading about. How she craved to live her life to the fullest and have her story told. To leave her house and see the world.
Willow was so lost in her daydreams that she was often oblivious to what happened around her. She didn’t notice until it was too late that her sadness did not come from within her: there was a dark, magical force residing in her piece of land, that infected the habitat and its inhabitants like invasive roots underneath a forest. She spent hours in her garden, longing over unlived experiences through her books by the shadow of the willows, without realising that her story was soon to come. The trees knew her heart’s deepest desires, and were determined to prevent her from becoming a weeper. Her namesakes were aware of the curse hidden in between the walls of the house because they had experienced them before. All the trees used to be humans. They were previous residents of the estate, a place whose own misery projected into their occupiers, until it got to such an unbearable point that nature interfered by turning them into willow trees. Forever doomed to the tale of torment.
They had grown fond of Willow, whose spark of life had yet to be extinguished. Through windy conversations and messenger birds, they decided that the curse had to stop and came up with a plan. The depressed house needed to lose its power and the young girl had a life to live. All of nature agreed to become one and rebel against the oppression towards happiness.
An unexpected tornado devastated Willow’s land, the intensity of the wind destroying everything in its path. The girl’s father was too far away to even find out on time, and the servants had long gone home. Willow was the only person there, but not the only soul. The house had no business in taking her aspirations, and the curse had to be broken for her to fulfil them. The weeping willows succeeded partly; the girl did not turn into a tree. But the house still wielded some power. As its last act of defence, the walls turned Willow into a marble statue, sentencing her to the mediocrity of remaining as a peaceful reader for eternity, but nothing more than that.
She did not have the time to live a life full of adventures, but one of her wishes did come true. She had a story worth telling, and I have taken it as my duty to do so. Willow’s body might be forever captured by the delicate marble within the walls of a museum, but her thoughts and desires will live through the pages.
– Luciana Medrano
Luciana Medrano is a Creative Writing student at York St John University from Bolivia. She’s been reading, creating, and writing stories for as long as she can remember. In 2023, she published her debut YA dystopian novel, “Golden”, in Bolivia. Since then, she’s been writing and daydreaming many other stories. She wants to become a full-time author/editor.