It was Thursday last and last and last and before then even, when she left the woods, and set forth onto the roads. And Thursday before this, and before that, and before then, when she was turned from unicorn into woman, fair as the moonlight with sea foam hair and too serious eyes that reflect the sea and the secrets within the waves for all to see.
It was Thursday prior when she saw the skull spoke in tongues only understandable to Amalthea, and jarred her memories from the love and the life she could have had, and made her remember the reason why she was in the castle of the Red Bull. Love had slowed her, stilled the current that drifted in search of the unicorns inside her, but speech stirred it and blew the waters into life, and from the life came the memories.
It was Thursday this when she left, no longer the shape of a woman was her body, but that of her true self, regret deep in her heart, and the knowledge of mortality in the bones of an immortal creature. But she walked, Thursday this, with no last look at the world that reshaped her heart.