How I hate lilies. An awful reminder of the woman my husband loves.
I knew our marriage would be doomed by our first date. He brought me lilies. A lovely way to shove the fact he would never love me like he loved her right into my face. But what could I do? It was our destiny to be together. Signed in ink by our own parents. Money, dowry, property; it was all there in black and white. But love was nowhere to be found. Things did not work that way in the world we come from.
So we courted the proper length of time. There was an attraction of course. Physical only. Myself with the long blonde hair and slim yet curvy figure, and him with the platinum hair and deep blue eyes. We kissed without fireworks and had sex out of physical yearning not love. On our wedding day in the presence of our families and connections we robotically said the vows we were required to. We did not mean a word of them. He would not care for me in sickness and in health, and I would not love him for richer or for poorer. He had a lily in his pocket.
A few years into the loveless marriage and I produced the heir it had been my responsibility to produce. Deep down I had a hope that this child might change something between us. That being the mother of his child would somehow cause him to love me. And somehow make me love him. That is, after all, what every girl wants. To love and be loved, even if she will not admit it. But the pregnancy changed nothing and for nine months I was carried for my handmaiden and midwife while my husband went out cavorting with god knows who and selling his soul time and time again to the best business deals that came his way. I cried the night our son was born. I had murderous thoughts. I wanted to kill him before he knew the pain of a life without love; a family without love. Before I could act on my thoughts a servant came in with a bouquet of lilies. There was no card. I cried even harder.
For the next 16 years I poured my heart and soul into loving my son, and remarkably, so had my husband in the best way he could. He could not love out son like I did. He no longer has a soul, I am sure of it, and I know that his heart is gone; it was ripped out a long time ago by a woman name Lily.
How I adore lilies. A torturous reminder for my husband of the woman he loved and little glimpse into the hell to which he has condemned me.
AN: Like? Hate? Love?
Tell me! I've never written one of these before and haven't read many so I need some feedback.