The Lost of Spark (Proses: COMPLETED)

PROSE III

[𝐏𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐓; 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐨𝐰𝐧𝐞𝐫.]

𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘣𝘦; 𝘸𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦,

One afternoon on a Christmas vacation I was sitting underneath a very old tree--- meters away from the mansion near the river, in which the branch of it covers me against the sun's heat upon which can possible burn all of me; reading John Cheever and Joseph Conrad---my mind's latibule far from reality where atychiphobia keeps on hunting me.

At 7, I've learn how to sit proper, eat proper, read books rather than play with those kids same as my age, was trained how to walk like a royalty rather than to run after a soccer ball, to exchange conversation in a very afternoonified way with either oldies or young—indeed a peg puff; I am the child of my mother whom trained me to act like a woman at a very young age—bothering to think of we aren't even royalties.

From the tree where I'm sitting, I've seen a man from afar wearing all white, a wavy- elbow length- hair staring at me like I'm some gapeseed he just discovered; I frowned and continued the last pages upon which sent me back on blueth.

As I was drown reading books I've realized---it's almost dark as I look up to the skies; accidentally my eyes roam the place and saw the same pair of blue eyes---so real, so vivid still looking at me!

𝙒𝙃𝘼𝙏 𝙎𝙃𝙊𝙐𝙇𝘿 𝙄 𝘿𝙊?
𝙒𝙃𝘼𝙏 𝙎𝙃𝙊𝙐𝙇𝘿 𝙄 𝘿𝙊?
𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙄, 𝙍𝙐𝙉 𝙤𝙧 𝙃𝙄𝘿𝙀?

He showed obeisance by bowing down, afterwards smiling at me; gave me temporary sukoon and as I took path towards the mansion, I've heard footsteps from behind making me feel eldritch---I made the most morosis defense by working my martial art skills over the stranger only to realize he's no ordinary man.

King Philip II, laying miserably on the floor holding his broken leg staring at his wounded elbow---all because of my stupidity; seeing knights in front of me and hearing momma's dramatic scream of shock and shame behind me, gave me the urge to run away and hide for the rest of my life--- traitors of my own system upon which I cannot move; MY FEET.

The first embarrassing moment I had with my, now so called "HUSBAND", Philip; after that incident, I have found out that he was bound to marry no other but me---in which at first I furciferiously declined. Thus, look where it took me?

I opened the shutters to the early morning, pearl and sweet on the 12th of June---smelt the dew damp earth and heard the crowing cocks; sea gull flew overhead, I then tipped my head to watch its graceful passage, thy wings painted pink by the light of the setting sun.

Touching the ring right on my ring finger as I felt the tight embrace of my husband behind me. I knew, right on that instance that I would stay with Philip and would give myself like some sort of gift to him---upon which only a single year can be received; I doubt.