When stupid little Lottie threw a stick to throw off a monster (spoiler: it didn't work), she did not expect that it would lead her down the path of an unordinary life with a very unordinary husband.
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All Lottie had ever wanted was to live an o...
Three years into marriage, life with Cain was still as simple as Lottie had always dreamed of: an ordinary life with an ordinary husband. It was good, even if it wasn't as perfect as she'd first thought it would be.
On one of those ordinary summer afternoons, Lottie sat by the open window of their wooden cottage, making most of the remaining hours of daylight to mend the wear and tears in her husband's tunics, cloaks and boots. After one tunic was done, she moved on to the next, then the next. Cain went through an awful lot of tunics with all the physical work he did.
As the sun dipped towards the tops of the trees in the distance, casting a violet hue across the horizon, the telltale clip-clop of a carted horse sounded. Looking up from her sewing, Lottie saw the familiar figure of her husband driving the old mare up the dirt path to their home, returning from one of his trips to the nearby town for market day.
Lottie gave a little wave out the window, and he raised a hand in response. Satisfied with the brief exchange, she returned her attention to the sewing. Minutes later, she held up the faded brown tunic in front of her, picturing her tall, burly husband wearing it the next day he went out into the field, only to tear it off by midday.
A warm flush crept up her cheeks. Even after a thousand days, the midday display of his masculine beauty was still the main event of her days. To see, but not to touch. Torturous, yet something she would likely never tire of.
By the time she lowered the tunic and put an end to her mental image, Cain was already there, filling the doorway of the cottage with his incredible size, making the space appear more cramped than it really was. Exhaustion lined his face, but his eyes smiled back as they met hers. Still as warm as they were the first time they'd met.
"How was your day?" Lottie asked, folding the tunic up neatly before setting it aside on a bench.
"Good," he answered simply and handed her a basket.
Lottie accepted it gingerly, careful not to touch his fingers, and lifted one corner of the linen cloth cover to see a few cakes and... a wooden carving of a rabbit.
She smiled brightly, taking out the wooden rabbit and admiring it as it rested in her palm. Every time Cain returned from a trip to the market, he brought back a little bauble for her. A comb, a hairpin, a carved animal... So many animals that she practically had a mini menagerie. But she loved them all and kept them stashed away in her very own chest of treasures from Cain.
"Thank you," she said, holding the rabbit to her chest.
Cain nodded, then bent to slide his boots off. Almost instantly, Lottie's smile faded. It was stupid, so stupid that she had to always suppress that tiny sprout of jealousy over the boots he held in his strong hands.
Yes. Boots. His boots may be worn and muddied, but he was happy to put his hands on them. In fact, he did not seem to have an issue with putting his hands on anything and everything... except her.
The last time her fingers accidentally brushed his when handing him a plate loaded with supper, he physically recoiled so violently that he almost dropped the entire plate. That was two years ago. Since then, she'd been even more careful to avoid invading his personal space.
He was a good man. He worked hard. He provided her with shelter and a roof over her head. He ended her humiliation of being an unwanted spinster by asking for her hand. He never complained, so she wouldn't either.
Some things could not be changed, and she would not attempt to change him regardless. He was perfect the way he was, even if they could never be more than... well, this.
No physical intimacy. No children. It was better this way, she often told herself. At least the house was peaceful, like the way they ate their supper together every night, with nothing but the chirp of summer crickets filling the space between them. Tonight, they had a stew of lamb and carrots—all from the farm he worked so hard on.
"Is it good?" Lottie asked, peeking through her lashes to observe the way Cain hungrily devoured the chunks of meat.
He nodded. "Very good," was all he said before tipping the bowl back to finish the last of his stew.
And then, so very unlike other men in the village, he took both of their emptied bowls and spoons and washed them in a pail of water by the hearth, allowing her to rest even though he was the one who always seemed to work harder.
That was her husband. Her simple, ordinary husband who spoke few words, refused to touch her, but provided for her and cared for her in his own way. Her own heart was the traitorous fool that cried for more.
Life was always like that, wasn't it? Once upon a time, she had thought all she wanted was a husband and an ordinary life, until she got a husband and an ordinary life, then it wasn't enough anymore. Never satisfied. Never content. Always wanting more. Always greedy. Such was the cursed nature of men.
It was just that sometimes, she couldn't help but wonder what it might be like to love and feel loved. To kiss, to wake in her husband's arms, to have a house filled with youthful cries and laughter.
She tried hard to convince herself that it was fine. She and Cain, they could be friends who lived a peaceful life together and grew old together while supporting each other. During the days, while he worked on the land and the animals, she cooked and cleaned and sewed. In seasons of harvest, she helped him in the fields. In preparation for winter, he helped her with the salted meats and preserves. She might never know love, but she would have companionship, and that was already more than many others had.
Last year, Polly gave birth to a fourth child. With each birth, her body swelled and her skin grew loose. Lottie thought she was still beautiful, but Luke did not think so. He started mocking her and beating her with almost every meal.
Then there was Glenda, whose husband was drunk more hours of the day than not.
And don't forget Willa. Stunning, alluring Willa, whose husband Cole crushed every other man's dreams the day he wedded her and vowed to always love her and no other. Even Willa was not immune to marital troubles.
Two years ago, Cole impregnated Willa's sister, Drea. One day in the village square, before a crowd of a hundred, Drea openly dumped her own husband whilst he, too, proclaimed her a whore. Then he up and left the village and hadn't been back since. Willa, who once made a sport out of mocking Lottie, now made it her life goal to ensure the entire village knew her sister as a whore and her sister's child as the "son of a bitch".
Such were the joys of living in a little village with someone like Penny, whose one-woman-run rumour mill would spread oft-exaggerated gossip to every corner, even to Lottie and Cain's quiet little farmstead on the outskirts of the village.
Cain may not be interested in her, but he was still better than all of those other men. She should be happy. She should be content.
What was love, anyway? It wasn't something she could eat.
That night, cradling the little rabbit to her heart as she lay in her lonely bed, Lottie made a promise to herself: from now on, she would be happy with her ordinary life with her kind, ordinary husband.
Little did she know, her quiet, humble and probably-gay husband was anything but ordinary.
Never would she have suspected that he was, in fact, the deadliest man in the entire kingdom.
Scrap that. He wasn't even a man at all. Not really. And that meant she could never have gone on living an ordinary life.
Word count: 1,354
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A/N: This chapter needs heavy editing but I just wanted to get it out already so I can finally cross the 8,000-word milestone!
