It was well after midnight, when he stepped into the library and she knew, without turning from the fireplace that it was him and not some other member of the household, wandering about, restless and anxious and unable to sleep; she knew it was him, because something inside her simply always knew when he was near, even if she didn’t see him with her eyes, her soul knew. And it terrified her. It terrified her almost as much as it thrilled her, forbidden as that thrill was, when he with steps so silent, she didn’t actually hear him cross the room, but hearing didn’t matter, nothing mattered, when his arms slipped around her waist with possessive intent that had her instinctively reclining against his chest when common sense told her to pull away.
A whimper of wanton need escaped her, when his lips brushed over her neck, ghosting over her skin, his breath deliciously warm, fanning the every growing flames of need that raged inside her; flames that only he had ever created within her, while his brother – the man she was there to marry, the man she had been promised to when they were children – never made her feel even a flicker of warmth, when he placed a chaste his against her hand. “We can’t…” The words, the refusal, the denial, faded when he kissed the sensitive skin beneath her ear and she wanted, gods how she wanted, to turn around in his arms and finally feel his lips claim hers, but she knew if she did turn, if she allowed that claiming of lips, the claiming wouldn’t stop there.
If she kissed him, if he ever truly kissed her, she would be completely lost, honor and promises be damned, because if she allowed that kiss to happen, there would be no stopping, no going back, no more pretending her reputation or virtue mattered when all she wanted was become his and have him become hers.
“If you marry my brother, you will be miserable for the rest of your life.”
“I know.” She allowed the tears to slip from her eyes, as she whispered the words.
He sighed, sounding tired and defeated, as his arms released her and she knew, as he stepped back, as he would never make any attempt to hold her again.
“I leave tomorrow.”
“Don’t – “
“I won’t stand by and watch you marry a man you don’t love.”
His exist was as silent as his entrance, but she knew when he left, because he took the warmth with him, took her heart and a piece of her soul along with it, leaving her alone with only the truths he had spoken to provide cold company.
#NotExactlyWhatYouAskedFor #LosingLove #NotEvenSureWhatThisIs
My greatest Pet Peeve? People who use, ‘well I was raised that way’ as an excuse to justify their bad behavior or dismiss it when people call them out for saying/making racist, sexist, homophobic remarks and/or gestures.
Saying you do it because you were raised in an environment where it was common, at the time, or not frowned upon, as it is today, is no excuse.
I was born and raised and live in the deep south, but you start using racial slurs, make sexist comments or insult anyone with THE GLBTQ Community and I will call you out on it and if you don’t like it, get out of my home and my life.
Regardless of how or where you were raised and what you were exposed to as a child, we all reach an age when right and wrong is obvious and you have to accept the fact that some (maybe all) of what you were surrounded by and taught as a child was wrong.
How you were raised isn’t an excuse for being a hatful bigot; you may have been exposed to that behavior, but you have the power to change yourself and you have the power to teach your children and grandchildren and others around you, that there is a better way.
#PetPeeves #Enough #NoMoreExcuse
His mother and grandfather had tried, tried so very diligently, to shield him from the rumors, from the ugly comments made by those who knew, or believed they knew, the full truth behind his conception and birth; he was ‘the king’s bastard’ cursed with mismatched eyes, which were, people speculated, certainly some indication he had been touched by the hand of something undeniably evil. “They say the queen is quite unstable…maybe she cursed the child when she learned her husband had strayed from their marriage bed.” As he grew older, he understood he wasn’t cursed, there was nothing evil or even remotely supernatural regarding his eyes, but he was indeed the king’s bastard and the queen was more than unstable, she was, viciously, coldly calculating and she gleefully used threats against his life and even the lives of her own children, the siblings he had had never had opportunity to encounter, to keep the king chained to her side, when beside her was exactly where the king didn’t want to be.
You Don’t And I Don’t Care
You don’t understand, I didn’t ask for this. To have this illness that is invisible to you. I didn’t ask for the pain, the sleepless nights or the endless parade of doctors who offer pills as quick fixes and no compassion or kindness.
You don’t understand that I didn’t ask for this because no one ask to be sick in any form, but it cancer or a common cold or Fibromyoma.
You don’t understand because you opt not to understand; you could, if you wanted, but your heart is hard and full of hate and you find thill in passing judgment.
You don’t understand and I don’t care anymore because not caring about you and your ignorance, that is something I can opt to do.
Happily Ever After...With Blood Stained Hands
She looked at the body at her feet, watching, mesmerized for a moment, as his blood pooled crimson on the steps where he was slumped.
“There’s blood on your shoe, my dear.”
Startled, Cinderella turned, to find the Fairy Godmother behind her, a pleased smirk on her face that made a mockery of her matronly manner. “He’s dead.” She said, her voice as chilled as the brisk, winter kissed breeze that swept lazily over the palace grounds; the ball was still taking place in the heart of the castle, but eventually, someone would realize the crown prince was missing and guards would quickly be dispatched.
“I did as you commanded.” The silver dagger, stained with the blood of the prince, the prince she could have possibly loved, in another time, another place, finally slipped from her fingers, landing beside the body she could no longer bring herself to look at. “I killed the prince, with a silver dagger forged from ice at the stroke of midnight.” She lifted her chin, in defiance to her trembling voice and the Fairy Godmother – or maybe she was a wicked witch most foul – stepped forward and casually retrieved the weapon she had given Cinderella earlier in the evening, when she had approached the sobbing girl with an offer Cinderella had been unable to refuse.
“You did as I instructed, girl, and in return, you will be granted what was promised.”
“My stepmother and stepsisters…”
“Within a fortnight of this night, your stepmother will be dead, blamed for the death of the prince, whom she will be accused of killing after her rejected her daughters.” Humming, she slipped the dagger into a pocket in her heavy cloak, before continuing, “And your stepsisters, they will stand accused as accomplices and will be sentenced to prison for the remainder of their lives and their downfall will forfeit back to you all that has been stolen.”
“My home.” She whispered, tears shimmering in her eyes.
“Your hone. Your wealth. Your title as a Lady within the kingdom.” The Fairy Godmother tilted her head slightly, regarding Cinderella intently, intensely, as if she could see into her heart and soul and perhaps, she could and that was what had led them here. “Revenge. You shall have it. A poor servant girl no more.”
“Thanks to you.”
“Oh no, my dear. I offered terms. You accepted them.”
“That I did.”
“And now?” She waved a hand in the direction of the dead prince. “Do you regret what you have done here tonight, my sweet?”
“Yes.” It was the truth, but so were the words that followed. “But if I had it to do again, I would make the same decision.”
Casting her eyes away from the woman who had saved – or ruined – her life, she finally saw that she did indeed have blood on her shoe and without thinking, she kicked it off and without another word to the Fairy Godmother, Cinderella descended the steps with as much grace as one could, with only one shoe.
She didn’t look back, as she disappeared into the shadows of the night, even as shouted orders to find the prince carried on the wind.
#TwistedFairyTale #NotSoHappyAnEnding #WickedFairyGodmother