The Maidens

by Alex Michaelides

Her body knew it. She felt it in her bones, along her blood, and deep within every cell.

Mariana was still in love with him—that was the problem.

Even though she knew she’d never see Sebastian again—even though he was gone for good—she was still in love and didn’t know what to do with all this love of hers.

There was so much of it, and it was so messy: leaking, spilling, tumbling out of her, like stuffing falling out of an old rag dol...

If only she could box up her love, as she was attempting to do w...

He was all she had, and she longed to be worthy of his love.

Plato said the soul was a circle—which made sense to Mariana. Life was a circle too, wasn’t it?—from birth to death.

Come on, love, she could hear him saying, give me your hand and we’ll face the bastards together.

Once you kill another human being, there’s no going back.

Like all good heroes, he made his presence felt long before his appearance.

Years later, Sebastian would often tell Mariana how beautiful she was, but the problem was she never really felt it, inside.

“It was written” is the Greek expression. Meaning, quite simply, from that moment on, their destinies were sealed.

But try as she might, the specifics slipped through her fingers like grains of sand.

she was already so deeply in love, there was no way out again.

On some level, they became each other—they joined, like mercury.

We all secretly hope that tragedy will only ever happen to other people. But Mariana knew, sooner or later, it happens to you.

Sebastian gave her a messy, sticky kiss. “I love you,” he whispered. “Forever and ever—” “—and ever and ever,” she said, kissing him back.

Reading about life was no preparation for living it; she had learned this the hard way.

“It’s important to keep looking ahead. You mustn’t forever look back, over your shoulder. Think about the future.”

I hold it true, whate’er befall; I feel it when I sorrow most; ’Tis better to have loved and lost Than never to have loved at all …

“It doesn’t take much to save a childhood.” A little kindness, some understanding or validation: someone to recognize and acknowledge a child’s reality—and save his sanity.

“When I spoke to Conrad, he called them ‘witches.’” “Did he, indeed?” Elsie chuckled. “‘Bitches’ is more like it, dear.”

After we die, Mariana thought, all that remains of us is a mystery; and our possessions, of course, to be picked over by strangers.

“I’m totally happy being self-partnered. I’ll never fall in love.”

She remembered kissing him, and how sweet his kisses tasted, with the faint trace of liqueur mingled with tobacco on his lips.

Nonetheless, it was an impressive creature—ragged but serene, and highly imperious.

It was erratic and scrawled, particularly toward the end, as if written in some haste, in a fit of madness—or sanity.

“I have a good feeling about you, Mariana. A hunch. I’m a big believer in hunches.”

Alone, she can find a level of peace—she can think her thoughts without fear of attack.

She knows her husband wants a son—but secretly she prays it’s a girl. If it’s a boy, he’ll grow into a man. And men are not to be trusted.

But was it a celebration? Or a catastrophe?

Don’t glorify the events of your life and try to give them meaning. There is no meaning. Life means nothing. Death means nothing.

“The word ‘psychotherapist,’ as you know, comes from the Greek psyche, meaning ‘soul,’ and therapeia, meaning ‘healing.’ Are you a healer of souls? Will you heal mine?”

No longer synonymous with love and happiness—from now on, they would only ever mean blood and death.

He never once gave you the love you needed.

Mine eyes dazzle.’ The bodies are presented like that—to dazzle us. To blind us with horror. Why?”

We should always pay attention when our body tells us something.

“Love isn’t conditional,” Ruth said. “It’s not dependent on jumping through hoops to please someone—and always failing.

You don’t love him. Nor do you know or love yourself.”

even when people are no longer with us, they can remain a powerful presence.”

“Well, I don’t want to be looked after! I can’t think of anything worse. I’m not a damsel in distress, a … maiden waiting to be rescued.

“I don’t mind. It’s okay if you hurt me, you know. After all—‘it’s better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all.’”