As beautiful as they say
As she was never seen around, in the minds of her fellow countrymen she had become a ghost. When they talked about her, they never called her by name but it was said that she was beautiful and that this beauty was offered unspoiled to the eyes of those who looked at her, in the persistent passing of time. Nobody could be sure, but a certain loudmouth, cockier than the others, had a lot to say on the matter, in his opinion, so the ghost became a myth in the town square like in the darkest alleyways.
When she reappeared one Sunday in April in the middle of the flower market, there was a roar of silence. Dressed in black, carrying a rose stem like a sceptre, she was struck with serial and increasing gazes as a wave of envy and curiosity whipped over the heads of the people assembled, infecting their mood. All she could do was run away. At this, everyone started talking again, louder than before, insulting each other for having looked without understanding. Slowly, amongst the din, normal sales and Sunday activities resumed, but from then on, the woman became as beautiful as they say, thanks to a muffled comment of a child.