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FROM STORIES YOU'VE READ as a child, it always seemed to focus around three main things.
A beautiful princess. A courageous knight. A wolf in sheep's clothing.
And in every story, it always would end the same. The knight who slayed the dragon, the wolf, or the witch, is given his award, which is the dainty hand belonging to a princess.
"And they lived happily ever after..."
Happily ever after hm? False reality, a delusional fantasy used to escape the harsh demands life throws at you. And why do you think that?
Because if a happy ending was real, then what the hell kind of happily ever after is this?
Sitting in a frozen themed carriage pulled by two ornery hellhorses that could snap at any moment, while being led through a snowy landscape of rolling hills and a clouded sky overhead.
And...having your prince sit beside you, his twig-like, cold to the touch hand playfully caressing the strands of your braided hair.
Your hand is itching to smack the prideful, possessive grin off his lips, though it remains balled up in a tight fist, hidden in the thick fabric of your expensive dress.
You know exactly why he's been smiling since the moment you arrived at his palace. He's finally won.
Andrealphus has won a prize worth bragging and showing off to easily envious demons, who will congratulate him up front, while spewing lies and hating him from behind.
And all it took was a few sugar-coated lies and to play the role as prince charming to persuade your father into a state of reassurance and confidence for his decision made.
What a real man Andrealphus is...your father certainly has picked a wonderful suitor to marry you.
Lord how did you come to the point in your life where practically all the men around you are idiots? How embarrassing.
Alastor is excluded from this topic. He's the only one with his head on right. The goddamn irony of that too. He's an absolute menace and a threat to an entire realm, a psychotic mass killer. Yet he's the only one you view as a straight thinker.
When did your taste become so unique?
The caress of Andrealphus's fingers suddenly leave your hair and trail down your neck, a chill running down your skin which you can't help but twitch from.
He's already so handsy and your engagement hasn't even been announced to the public yet. You won't be held accountable for whatever scar you may cause on Andrealphus's pretty face if he decides to grow a little bolder with his touching.
Your contract may be signed, yes, but you'll refuse to perform in any physical activities before the wedding while you still have the chance.
Call it tradition. Call it moral standards, you'll make sure your point comes across.
