I start taking small side steps, shushing her the whole time. Somehow I manage to get to the waterside unscathed, and when I’m sure I’m not going to get mauled, I put the petals on a flat stone and use a smaller rock to grind them into a paste. I scoop up the salve and carefully make my way toward the bird-woman once more.

“You will never tame me!” she cries again as I near.

“I don’t want to tame you,” I say honestly. “I just want to help you. Will you let me do that?”

Her stare could burn holes, but she lets me approach. And, somehow, I find myself reaching up to spread the healing balm on her cheek with a trembling hand.

When my fingers first touch her feathery face, she lets out a high-pitched whine, and a shiver runs down my spine. Every instinct in my body tells me to turn and run. But I stay put. And when she realizes this is not a trick, she starts to calm down.

Eventually, she lets out a deep sigh, and her bird shoulders relax. Her feathers settle and her eyes soften until they look like molten syrup. “Thank you,” she warbles, and it almost sounds melodious.

I think of the third answer to the cheollima’s verification question. How the sun was mightier than the wind. I guess it’s true that empathy is more powerful than brute force. In a moment of trust, I reach out and stroke her feathers. And instead of screeching or screaming or slashing, the inmyeonjo coos and edges farther into my touch.

“Let go of your anger,” I say quietly, echoing the words Gwisin Halmeoni had said to Jennie. “Anger will only make it hurt more. And I know you don’t like mirrors, but these are people’s homes that you’re destroying.”

She whines and lets out a sad caw-caw. “But it is part of who I am. The curse of my ancestor makes me this way.”

I stroke her wing feathers, now tucked snugly into her body. “Don’t let a curse define who you can and can’t be. Only you have the power to decide that.”

She twitches her head to the side as if contemplating my words, and I realize how true they are. She and I aren’t dissimilar, if you think about it. We’re both trapped in a story someone else wrote about us. But we have the power to take the reins. If we want to.

“You’re beautiful just the way you are,” I say, “and you should be proud of your reflection.” I picture my smiling face in the library’s pond water, and I’m reminded of the journey that’s brought me here so far.

“My name is Riley Oh, and it’s nice to meet you,” I say. “What’s your name?”