𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 | 𝐉𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐊𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐢𝐧

𝐗𝐈𝐈 : 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

"Oh, no... I have been... vanquished... in combat... Tell my mother... and father... I... love them..."

Mr. Kirstein clutched where Martin jabbed a stick into his lung and fell to his knees. The whole way down, the Frenchman faked coughs to further drive home to the point that he was, in fact, at death's door. He crashed to the ground, gasping for air until he took one last, sharp intake. His eyes widened, only to shut harshly, and his tongue flopped out the side of his mouth.

After arriving at the house, Martin quickly latched to Mr. Kirstein like a leech to an ankle. The two were inseparable all afternoon, causing mischief throughout the backyard while you, Lucy, and Sunny watched from a safe distance.

"He's so perfect," Sunny breathed out, her voice and eyes clouded with desire. "Handsome, tall, good with animals and children, well-dressed, well-built, well-mannered."

Well-mannered and Mr. Kirstein were not a perfect pair in your mind, but you allowed the girl to live in her dreams until the brute dispelled them into disillusions. You only prayed that he maintained a decent level of kindness when he inevitably trounced on her dreams with his ill-tempered ways. He had managed to play nice with you thus far. How long was he capable of upholding such a lie?

Martin frog-splashed onto Mr. Kirstein's stomach, eliciting a curt grunt from the man. Somehow, the giant remained relatively still, leaning into his pretend death. Martin hovered over the painter's face, and you saw them make a hushed exchange. One of Mr. Kirstein's eyes peeked open, and you made contact with the fool on the floor.

"Y/n!" Martin called. "Jeanie's dead! He needs the kiss of life from a princess!"

"I can be the princess!" Sunny squealed before you could respond. "Give me a moment, Mr. Kirstein! I'll be right over!

As the blonde tossed her book and rose to her feet, both of Mr. Kirstein's eyes snapped open. He sat up faster than a firecracker popped, catching Martin by surprise.

"I lied!" The man stole the stick and jumped back to his feet. "As if you could kill a swordsman as skillful as I! Now, draw your blade, little man!"

Martin chased Mr. Kirstein around the yard again, screaming at the top of his little lungs in a war cry. Sunny sighed beside you and slumped back into her seat on the veranda.

"I would have been a good princess." Even without looking, you heard her pouting.

"Yes," you said as you fixed your eyes back on your book. "You would have been fabulous, Sunny."

Although you should pay more attention as a guardian, you had just reached a very passionate scene in Mr. Arlert's novel. The leading couple argues in the rain, only to realize they have been in love for an annoying amount of time. The heroine was about to relent her unyielding opposition to their union while her other half would drop his guard and sweep her into his arms. They would embrace as the sky crashed on their heads and hearts, weaving their fingers through each other's hair and joining their souls into one harmonious entity. You wished they would have admitted the truth chapters earlier, especially when the two were left alone to walk along the beach. It was so painfully obvious the man had strong affections for her, but you loved the tensions and near-misses that came with those kinds of stories.

For so long, you desired a love like that: the feverish, burning kind that sent tingles down your spine. The kind that made you want to run out in the rain, risking illness and sensibility in hopes of falling in love with an outstanding individual.

But you grew up and found a man whose love was velvety and genial. You did not need passionate, downpouring confessions, tension-filled walks through the sand, or late-night rendezvous. In your daydreams, you skipped through the sun with Mr. Arlert, speaking on intellectual matters which interested the both of you. Your heart, mind, and soul were wholly contented with him by your side, leading you towards a beautiful, peaceful life with no strife, fear, pain, or—