She sat alone in the meadow, barefoot, dress fluttering in the wind. The apple in her hand was deep red—perfect, almost glowing. She took a bite.
It was sweet, but strange. The taste lingered, earthy and ancient. She took another bite, and her fingers tingled. Her skin prickled, then stiffened. She looked down.
Bark.
Her legs rooted into the soil. Her arms stretched toward the sun, leaves unfurling from her fingertips. The apple dropped from her hand, now a branch. Her eyes, still full of wonder, blinked once more—then closed forever.
And in that spot, where a woman once sat, an apple tree stood, ripe with fruit and mystery.
English