𝒞𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓁𝓁𝑜
As I watched her stare in awe and childlike wonder, I felt proud that my actions had made her feel this way. I was so used to hurting people that making them feel happy was as addicting as a drug.
After an unpleasant conversation about the mirror portal, we sat down to eat.
Then she asks the only question I don't want to answer: "Where are your parents?"
Of all the questions.
I tell her about them. But I don't tell her how it was my fault. How it was my fault they died because the tax was my idea. I had thought it was a genius idea. I was wrong. Terribly and horribly wrong.
I don't tell her about the guilt. How it gnaws at me. How it gives me night terrors. I wake up sweaty and disoriented, afraid to close my eyes again. Because if I do, I see my parents die right before my eyes. Over and over and over again.
I tell no one. No one knows.
I am king. Kings don't have night terrors. Only children do. I am not a child.
I. Am. A. King.
YOU ARE READING
Waiting in the Dark
RomanceA Beauty and the Beast retelling. Of sorts. For as long as, Aracelli can remember a girl from her village is chosen to wed the Beast of the Wood in order to appease him and keep him from destroying the wood. He is a wild, savage creature who kills h...
