“The motherfucker.”And godsdoesthat feel good to say, even if it’smuttered under my breath so softly, Idon’t evenhear it.
Louder, I ask, “But why marry me at all then?”My throattightens.My thoughts spin.
“Let’s go with this one,” hesays.“I think it’ll bring out your eyes nicely, and knowing King Morningstar, he’ll be dressed all in black.You’ll match.”
Bewilderment coversmy face.“I don’t wantusto match!You just said he’s still going to kill me.”
“Well, aren’t you lucky then.I’dkill to die right now.”
“What?”
Shaking his head, he gesturesto his assistant.“I’m done for the day.Deal with this while I go get a drink.If you can get her to pick out a few more outfits, I’ll give you a raise.”
My mouthfallsopen when he actuallyleaves.Fairiesarethe worst!Howcanhe drop a thing like that and then leave me to deal with it on my own?
My breathingcomesout faster.
Anger buildsin my chest.
The world startsclosing in.
My hands clench.
I’mgoing to be sick.
Or faint.
Knowing my luck, I’lldo both.
Breaking through my haze, the girlsays, “I’m sorry to bother you when you’re clearly going through something, but can you just pick a few outfits at random?I could really use the extra cash, and Dad’s a stickler for raises.”
I look at her, blinking rapidly.“What am I going to do?”
“Well,” shesaysslowly, “youcanpick out a few extra outfits.”Smiling cheerfully, sheadds, “maybe even the one you’ll die in, hmm?”Holding up a red jumpsuit, she wavesit in the air.“For instance, this.Youwon’teven be able to see any of the stains.”
My mouthfallsopen.Horror grabshold of my heart and squeezes.
“Or…” shesays, dragging the word out as she grabsa black jumpsuit, “this one will hide notonlythe blood but also your piss and shit.That’s pretty good, right?Dying in style.”
Ishakemy head frantically.“But I don’t want to die in style!I don’t want to die at all!”
“Well,” shesaysin frustration, “you don’t really get to choose that, now do you?”Forcing another smile, sheadds, “But what youcanchoose are a few outfits.So what do you say?”Sheholdsup a dark plum-coloured dress and a black three-piece suit with a purple shirt.“These are sexy and queen-like, hmm?”
A good brownie wouldhave said yes.A good brownie wouldhave helped her get that raiseAgood brownie would be doing what she is,actually– being annoying optimistic.
But if I’mgoing to die by my own husband, then screw the rules.Wherehavethey ever gotten me anyways?Here.Dying.That’swhere.“Get out.”
“What?”Shock lacesher words, alongside annoyance and disappointment, but Idon’tcare.
“Get.Out.”
If thesearethe last moments or days of my life, I want to enjoy them.And sheisnot enjoyment.Sheisdepression and punch-her-in-the-face-ion.I’veneverwanted topunch anyone in the face before, but I’mprettysure this is what it feels like.
Scoffing, sheshakesher head andleavesand then I’mon my own with my thoughts, and Idon’tknow if that’sworse.
“He’s executing me.”Ican’tbelieve it.Don’twant to.“He’sexecutingme!”
No, wait.Icanbelieve it.Quite easily, actually.Heisa fairy, and everythingisstarting to make sense now.Why hedidn’task me to marry him himself.Why hedidn’tcome to see me on our wedding night.Why bother getting to know someone, getting attached when you’regoing to kill them, amirite?“That’s why he came on my face too!Why make love when you can just fuck it, huh?”
