AN: Hey, gang. Another on Sunday if I can get myself in gear.

Also if you like Edward with a mullet, go check out The Opposite Effect. I must drink heavily to come up with this stuff.

Chapter 12 (EPOV)

Journal of E. M. Cullen
Ruler of Cullenopeia, Tamer of Dragons and Writer of Epic Prose
(True Love of Queen Isabella Marie of the Swan-Cullen Kingdom and Mother of the Chosen One)

2 A.M.

Dear Keeper of the Innermost Secrets of the Realm,

It's been a long time since I have entered my thoughts into this sacred tome, but I need clarity and guidance. At this moment, I am perched on my velvet throne while pondering the nature of love and the impending arrival of the heir to my kingdom.

Actually, I should be honest. My Isabella has kicked me out of our bed so she can snuggle with the monstrosity of a pillow that now lives in our bedroom. I was actually kicked. After sleeping Isabella's foot assault, I fell out of bed and landed painfully on the floor.

The pillow is bigger than I am. To be truthful, I am quite jealous of the stuffing filled beast. She holds it tightly against her bosom and rests our child upon it. Between the large size of the pillow and the mound that our child rests in, there is no room for me to get a good night's sleep.

She has named it Bob. I don't find her or that name amusing at the moment. It might be due to Bob the evil pillow taking my position on the bed and how much my back hurts.

I am watching Game of Thrones and wishing I could take a battle ax to that pillow. I would pretend to be John Snow and take out my enemy. I am certain Isabella will not be pleased. I'm so tired I don't care. So very, very tired.

I doubt she'll know. I shall quietly slit the pillow and empty out its evilness. My body shall replace that soft piece of annoyance. She will never know the difference.

2:30 A.M.

I am banned from the bedroom for the duration of Isabella's pregnancy.

The bedroom is covered in downy goose feathers. I can hear my love violently sneezing as the vacuum whirls. I offered to clean up my mess but was cast out with the threat of dismemberment. I think she might be joking. I hope she might be joking. She was waving the knife I used on Bob very close to my face.

I thought I had the perfect assassination plot. Gently, oh so gently, I eased the pillow from my beloved and onto the floor. Isabella let out a snort and then a still beautiful snore as she continued to dream of lovely things. I imagine it was a rainbow over a meadow filled with wildflowers. She would perhaps disagree.

My fluffy foe laid like a lump in front of my feet. It was mocking me.

Perhaps I shouldn't have screamed a righteous battle cry and plunged the dinner knife into my nemesis?

A dinner knife, I must say, does an admirable amount of carnage.

Feathers flew into the air and landed onto my fearful wife who sat up clutching her blanket. That is when the sneezing began.

I wonder if flowers will be apology enough?

I will be better off bringing her a cheeseburger, bag of french fries and not speaking to her for a month.

Yes, I do think that groveling and food will be a good start.

That's all for now, dear tome of thoughts and dreams.

King Edward, Ruler of Begging for Forgiveness.