Epilogue
The woman in a black dress stands in front of the poetess. She speaks Spanish with a slight French accent.
“For my daughter,” she says. “It will be an epitaph.”
Violet looks up.
“Have you lost a daughter ?”
“‘Lost’ is the right word. She used to live here, in this place, with her father and me.”
Violet rubs her eyes. She offered her poems to some people she’d spotted in the crowd and she came back to sit in the Moorish garden of the Palacio de la Virgen Mora. This house had been built in the sixteenth century over the ruins of an Arabian palace and was registered in the historical records. At the moment it is used by the city of Ronda’s cultural department to welcome “Art for anyone and everyone,” a festival that takes place each year in five different places in the world at
