Now she tells me, he thinks, throwing his quill on the writing desk and turning to face his wife. She watches as sepia ink splatters over the worn mahogany.
"You're not the man I married," she says quietly, refusing to meet his eyes.
"You didn't marry a man," he snarls, pushing past her. "You married me for me, you said. For my soul, you said." He holds back tears that no gentleman would shed. "I am what you wanted now. Yet you pine away for what I used to be." He turns to face her. "For a monster."
"I could love a monster with a soul like yours," she replies softly. "The fact that you were a monster gave you an excuse."
"Fine," he growled. "Leave me, then." She keeps her eyes on the ground and her hands folded demurely as she walks out the door.
…
When I was born, the ravens cried, and the clock struck thirteen. My mother took one look at me…yellow-eyed, monster-like creature that I was, and gave me back to the midwife.
"Keep it," she muttered, thinking on the six children waiting in another room. "I can't afford another one, especially not cursed like it is." The midwife, a young widow who lived far outside of town, nodded politely and carried me to the door, where my father waited.
"Cursed?" he said quietly, making the word a question. The midwife nodded.
"With the evil eye," she replied. "You can see it." My father saw them then, my glowing cats' eyes, truly the eyes of the devil, and he nodded solemnly.
"Do your best with it yourself," he said decisively, "and we'll have the village priest say a mass for it."
"Sir, I'm not…" the woman protested as he practically pushed her out the door. "going to take…" she started to finish half-heartedly, staring at the closed door. "Damnation," she hissed.
…
