Waiting Beauty

By: T. M. Ashley

Every year for the past seventeen years, my parents have dragged us to the same vacation spot: Aphrodite’s Garden. We stay in the same creaky hotel, eat at the same run-down diners, and, of course, visit Aphrodite’s statue. Every. Single. Year.  

I’ve been on the Aphrodite tour so many times I could lead it myself. In fact, I did lead it last year—collected tips from tourists and everything. Naturally, I got caught and had to donate the money to the park.  

My parents just don’t get it. I Hate this place.  

“Why do we come here every year?” I ask, even though I know the answer by heart.  

“It’s to see if she comes to life, sweetie,” my mom always says.  

“It’s where I met your mother,” Dad adds with a nostalgic grin.  

You see, there’s a legend about the statue. It claims that Aphrodite will come to life when her soulmate clasps her hand. People flock here from all over the world to test their fate. Men, women, even kids line up to grip the statue’s hand and strike a pose. But after a thousand years—1,017 years, to be exact, according to the sign—no one’s succeeded.  

The sign gets updated every year:  

*"The Waiting Beauty has waited for her soulmate for…"*  

I wish she’d just find him already so my parents would finally stop dragging me here.  

“Come on, Gio,” my mom calls, waving me over to the statue.  

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Chill, Ma,” I reply, folding my arms.  

“You’ve been coming here for years, and you’ve never taken a picture with her,” she nags.  

I shake my head.  

“Come on, sport,” Dad adds, nudging me with his elbow. “She might not be here next year.”  

He knows I hate this trip.  

“Fine. Just take a picture of me and your father,” Mom says, handing me her new camera.  

I sigh heavily. “Fine.”  

I look through the lens and snap the photo.  

“Gio!” Mom squeals. “I wasn’t ready! You didn’t say cheese.”  

“Say cheese,” I mutter, frustrated.  

They smile and embrace, and I snap another picture. Begrudgingly, I hand the camera back.  

“Now it’s your turn, Gio,” Mom says, her eyes gleaming with excitement.  

I want to scream, but I know how much this place means to her. Shoulders slouched, I shuffled toward the statue. Mom claps her hands like an overexcited child.  

“Touch her hand!” she calls out.  

I glance at the statue. She’s stunning—stone lips frozen mid-smile, her delicate features untouched by time.  

Reluctantly, I place my hand in hers. The moment our hands connect, a deafening crack of thunder erupts. I flinch.  

Mom curses—a first.  

When I turn, the statue’s stone exterior crumbles, and a living, breathing woman collapses into my arms. Her body is wrapped in fine silk, her scent a mix of mint and lavender. Her long black hair is impossibly soft, and when her eyes flutter open, my heart skips a beat.  

“Hi,” I managed to whisper.  

Her hazel eyes shimmer like molten gold. Her flawless smile reveals teeth whiter than freshly fallen snow.  

“Did you free me?” she asks, her voice smooth and melodic, like an angel’s song.  

I can’t speak. I simply nod.  

Her smile shifts, turning wicked. Her pupils narrow into slits, and her teeth elongate into sharp fangs.  

“Then you’ll be my first conquest,” she purrs. “Oh, how I’ve missed the realm of the living.”  

Before I can react, she lunges, sinking her teeth into my neck.  

Pain flashes, then darkness swallows me whole.  

When I come to, everything is red. My body feels rigid yet powerful, a fire coursing through my veins. I see my parents and feel an insatiable hunger gnawing at my core. Without thinking, I move toward them, compelled by an overwhelming thirst.  

Behind me, the woman—Aphrodite—laughs, a chilling, triumphant sound.  

She was never a beauty. She was a beast trapped in stone.  

Never seek love in idols.  

(End)