Dark, angst shit. I felt like writing this.

Not to Be

Oh cruel world, why did the universe intend to play with his heartstrings like a puppet? Justin loathed his life. Oh cruel God of the Heavens above; playing with his soul and fate—making him a prince to be wed off to someone he barely knew, expected to bed down with her, and produce an heir! He would look up to the skies, begging the Lord to help him; his hands pressed together in prayer constantly. He didn't want this—he never wanted this. No. No. He wanted love. When he would go through the city, he would see two lovers; hands intertwined, loving looks upon each other's faces as they exchanged glances. It was such a peaceful glow around them—he despised it, he envied it, he lusted for it; wondering what it would be like to hold hands with the woman he loved, kiss her soft as silk lips, and feel her body against his.

Sophie.

The shuffle of paper and the searching of ink.

Oh, Sophie, why did you betray me? Why did you leave me? I love you—please except my love.

Flowers and chocolates. That was what he gave her when the war was over. Soon dresses and then jewels (to which Howl digressed). He would visit her every month, when he could find the time, and speak with her. The weather, her family, his family, her life, his life. He would touch her hand from time to time, hoping that she would respond to his touch, but she never did. Sophie would smile at him kindly, pull her hand away as discretely as she could, but it was like a knife jabbed into his heart. When he would kiss her hand, he would linger, allowing his lips to feel the skin of her hand. She would pull her hand away, ashamed, but quickly smiled—a sweet innocent façade on her beautiful features to calm the saddened prince.

The look she gave that—that wizard! It was so filled with love. He wanted her to look at him in that way. Justin would sit there, hoping that she would come to her senses and run away with him. What was so special about that Howl? What did she see in him?

He didn't understand. Justin could offer her anything she wanted. She wanted new dresses; a snap of the fingers he could get any type of dress she wanted. Some jewelry? Why of course, have the best from France and Germany. Exotic furs? Have trunks filled with them. Take them all. Land, money, royalty, happiness . . . He had everything to offer her, but she chose this . . . This womanizing wizard! Why was he so important? What was so special about him? Why him? Why? Why?

Please, I want love, too, Sophie. Please, love me the way you love Howl.

True love broke the spell. Love. The feeling he had with her, for her, was euphoric—love was like living in a world filled with flowers without a care in a world as the two lovers created their own comfortable home. A sanctuary—finding comfort in each other's arms, warmth with each touch and kiss, and the bliss of feeling joy that could not possibly be described with words or the language of flowers.

No. He doesn't deserve that. No; he gets a cold woman with a selfish attitude that only wanted him for his blue blood and his ability to have a child. He didn't love her. He didn't know anything about the woman—Justin couldn't even pronounce her name (what was her name? It had slipped his mind). All he knew about her was that she was cruel and selfish, heartless, lustful for power—power-hungry in every way, like most royal members were. She wanted the crown. He wanted joy. She wanted him for his blood. He wanted someone to hold and love. His life was as plain as a piece of toast; nothing would excite it.

Politics. All corruption and greed. It was like dealing with the Devil himself. Pig Latin was what the royals and upper-class spoke—it was their second language. He hated the lifestyle; their gilded lifestyle with fake happiness, covering what they didn't have with their endless supply of wealth. He hated everything. He hated the princess. She was not his love. Sophie was his true love, not this snotty, snobbish princess. He wanted Sophie to be his for all eternity, but it was not to be.

Fate didn't want him to be happy.

Scratching sounds of pen on paper ensued.

And if that was the case, why go on like this?

Oh, Mother, I love you. But I wished I have never been born; I fear what I do not know. I must go. I must leave you all behind and face what I never really wished to face. Oh, Mother, I bid you farewell, take care, and I wish you all the happiness in the world. I hope you find what I never did.

And tell Sophie Jenkins that I still love her, and I wish her endless joy and bliss with her husband. Mother, I know she will bear her first child; find the best doctor in the land to care for her. She deserves the best. I do not want her to die while she is giving birth to her first child. Send for that doctor soon.

Goodbye.

Your first born son,

Justin.

Justin dropped the pen to the oak table below, and he moved like a voiceless ghost.

As he stood on the rickety chair and tighten the rope around his neck, nothing else mattered. Sophie would be cared for and . . . happy. A jump, a snap, a body hung like a coat in a closet. Polished white shoes hung limp, swaying gently. Left, right, left . . . Right . . . Left . . .