This story is a love tale of two heirs from two wealthy British families. It follows how a gay couple, Henry and Maxwell, must fight against their families and society for their love. The narrative explores the concepts of right and wrong, and good...
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"And I had decided that all this would end with me," I concluded the last two lines. I placed the royal pen back in its place, but as I did, a bit of ink dripped onto my hand.
But my gaze remained fixed on the same book, the one in which I had written those final lines. I found myself asking with my weary eyes, what would it have been like if I had never needed to write this book? What if the uncertainty within me about right and wrong had been filled with a bit more confidence? What if the characters in this book had never been real?
I wouldn't be sitting here, staring at it with a deep sense of loathing. I began writing this book when it all started, but I never imagined that the joy of enthusiasm would turn into a frown, or that enthusiasm would somehow transform into hatred without my noticing.
Humans are strange; love exists, but sometimes, they forget themselves. And in forgetting, they let fear replace love and start living in fear.
But the truth is, whether you love a boy or a girl, love is love. Yet sometimes, we forget the meaning of things, replacing one with another. But are we really so foolish that we don't know? We may not know if we exist or not, but we know something.
I pushed back my shiny chair, made of elm wood with fine carvings, adorned with golden leaves intricately tied. I closed the book, but as I read the title, I felt a strange jolt within me, 'Love or Lust?' The book cover was simple, a black hardcover with the title inscribed on it.
Quickly, I turned the book over; the back was plain black as well. I took a deep breath, glancing around my study table. On it lay "It Ends with Us" and "It Starts with Us," novels I was currently reading, along with an empty Victorian-style teacup. My entire study table was made of jade glass, transparent and elegant, with legs adorned with golden leaves that looked beautiful.
I turned around and found myself in a stunningly luxurious room, one that seemed straight out of a special director's movie set, but it was the reality before my eyes. The room was vast, with the largest wall adorned with an aesthetic painting of roses growing in purple and black, a beautiful sight covering the entire wall. There was an enormous bed, large enough to comfortably sleep at least ten people, but there I was, alone on it. On either side of the bed were magnificent curtains made of silk, pure white and framing the scene elegantly. The bedspread was a rich purple, and the pillows were pure white and so soft they seemed to melt under your gaze.
In front of the bed stood a dressing table, large enough to accommodate my entire family preparing at once, yet it was solely for me. The intricate carvings on the wooden table were beautifully done, painted in lavender, with small, delicate butterfly figurines made entirely of gold, adding a charming touch.
Beside me was my bathroom, its size unknown, and from where I stood, I could see the study table I had just been at. Next to the interesting table was a massive wardrobe, truly enormous, holding only my clothes. Next to that was my bookshelf, filled with a plethora of books.
