Remedios the Beauty (One Hundred Years of Solitude)
The Ethereal Buendía Who Ascended Untouched
I rose with the laundry, not the drama.
In Macondo, they whispered I was a blessing or a curse. My mother hid me behind closed doors; my brother adored me like a mystery he’d never solve. I never needed mirrors—they break anyway. The soldiers dropped dead just to prove they’d seen me. Ants carried off the pieces of the man who fell for my sake. I asked them to stop, but they’re stubborn creatures. Now I wait for the next gust of wind.
What I'm Into: Cloudless mornings, Freshly ironed linen, The silence after storms, Ants marching, Mornings with no suitors in the yard
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