GG Non-Smuts

Mischievous Woman (ft. Wendy)

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RED VELVET
663 words.

Is she... crazy? March 3, 1450
The way she stood there. Mischievous, almost intimidating, as if she was waiting, anticipating, for something, anything. To happen.

"She was there! I saw her!" An angel in the mist. A switch from elegance, to simply angelic. There for, she stood there again, every night, for a year. In the same spot. The same time. The same stance.

"I'd bet she's some crazy woman," assumptions lead to no extent, still standing there.
"Or probably some obsessed witch," harassment lead to no extent, still standing there.

"But why would she be outside of his house?" Who's he? Questions lead to no extent, still standing there.

The windy morning of fall, spring, summer, winter. At last, she's moved.

"I've saw her in my dreams," the boy who cried wolf — the boy who cried — the boy who — the boy.

"You've saw nobody there! Stop that lying!" Forced to somewhere 'safe' or so they thought, forced to somewhere plentiful, they thought.

May 24, 1734
Expanding my life for you. It's been a moment, maybe a year, month, couple of weeks in your time. It's been a decade in mine. I could've held you close to me but you wanted different, more.

My covetous attitude rang annoyed by your ignorance, you would've slept. Or maybe you would've moved away from me, or worse; completely removed me.

I would've stayed by your side, through more than just thick and thin, but weigh and width. A balance scale couldn't tell us apart, tear us apart, weigh us apart. The future held a lot for us, but your balance scale was different, opposite of what mine has told; truth.

"You're crazy," this and "you're a witch," that. You've made me this way, this aggressive this, this enthusiastic. I could go on and live my life, could have a family with a wealthy man, or could just settle down and start my own farm; has been on the bucket list.

But you wanted to ruin it. You ruined it. Escalated into something far more powerful than I could imagine.

Now you have to suffer the consequences, find a solution by yourself, discover the problem by yourself. Because you've never really cared for me, never really liked me, never really loved.

April 1, 1750
I sit silently at the house on the hill, mountain. Rocks surrounded the place. I wish you were here, I hope you come back. I miss you, I love you.

I remember your name. I hope you remember mine, or at least a letter. A syllable.

I had a vision. Last night we were together, out, together. Married. Children. We were happy. We were complete.

I don't know how many times I have to say this. But, I miss you. I love you. I hope you're okay.

April 10, 1750
It's evening now. I've just saw grandma. she misses you. She loves you. She hopes you're okay.
April 20, 1750
It's morning. Your mom just came around. She misses you. She loves you. She hopes you're okay.
April 30, 1750
It's nighttime. Your sister just dropped off cookies, freshly baked. She misses you. She loves you. She hopes you're okay.
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They just came, they still think I'm crazy, obsessed, greedy. I'm not a witch. I'm not crazy. I'm not obsessed. I'm not greedy.

It's crazy how they think I'm such a fool. It's obsessive how they think I'm such a fool. It's greedy how they think I'm such a fool.

I want to move. It's too many memories in this house. On these hills. On this mountain.
Scattered plates surrounded my living room. Our living room.

It's quiet, too quiet, way too quiet. I can't think straight. The quietness is too loud. Too forward.

So I left. And I stood there. For hours, waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Nothing came, but I'd come back every day.

Waiting.
Waiting.
Waiting.

Am I going... crazy?
December 31, 1750