Marry Me
CINDERELLA-CENTRIC
i.
She'd always dreamed of being a princess; a woman of grace and elegance in pretty moonlight-blue skirts that spun around her matchstick legs when they danced, oh how they would dance.
Daydreams were a small comfort, anyhow, especially when she was on her hands in knees in that ratty dress with her fingers worked down to the bone and her face completely wasted, cheeks hollow and bags under her eyes.
It hurt a lot sometimes.
ii.
Oh how gracefully she moved when she was in the arms of her prince, just like all her childish fairytales, blood spinning to her head in a dizzying rush of ecstasy and adrenaline.
She ran back to her carriage after that, uneven with only one glass slipper, stumbling slightly on the stairs in her haste as that dizzying euphoria swam about her head – maybe it was the champagne, or maybe it was something else, something new and exciting.
iii.
The wedding had been wonderful – white, just like all her dreams. Stars exploded from behind her eyelids every time they fluttered shut, and he had traced her cheekbone with his fingers to prove it wasn't some glorious dream. He had held her in his arms, dancing on the spot as her heart beat faster and faster-
-"you may kiss the bride"-
-and if she were to die young and pretty right now she would be the happiest girl who had ever lived.
iv.
She had always dreamed of being a princess; a woman of grace and elegance in pretty moonlight-blue skirts that spun around her matchstick legs when they danced, oh how they would dance.
Daydreams are a small comfort, anyhow, especially when she sees him from the corner of her eye talking to other girls, prettier girls, with their hair coiled atop their heads like gold.
She remembers nostalgically that her hair used to shine like that, but now it is dull – nothing more than fool's gold. You'd have to be a fool to want her now, and her prince is anything but.
v.
When he talks with the other girls – the younger, sillier things that grow tall and proud like sequoias – she pretends she can't hear, doesn't hear, not even when he says the same things he said to her all those years ago.
Rather, she hides her sorrow with her cup of wine and knows, deep down, that he doesn't want her anymore. As a princess, she had no function other than to look pretty and have children.
She feels that she has failed him somehow.
vi.
-but oh, what beautiful things I'll wear, what beautiful dresses and hair.
I'm lucky to share his bed, especially since I'll soon be dead.
a.n: this was inspired by marry me, by emilie autumn. good song, yo.