Fairytales Aren't Perfect

Chapter Twenty-Three

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE:

If someone were to have told Marge three years ago that this was how she was to be married she would have locked herself in her room in one of the many towers of her castle and vowed never to come out. She had never wanted to live like this. Her face hidden from the eyes of her subjects, her mother’s inability to maintain eye contact with her, ferrying towards the attentions of her other children.

Marge was the oldest and would forever be, but who would want a princess as hideous as her to take the throne – that was, unless she were to be married. That was how the whole idea of possible love from someone bloomed in poor Princess Margret’s lonesome heart.  And her Prince Charming had been riding out from the rays of the setting sun – at least that was what she had been led to believe.

Even now in a world that was not her own Marge could not get night of the ball from her mind, the swiveling of ladies dresses as they glided across the floor. Men dressed handsomely as they conversed or danced. The best part was the idea of the masks. Hidden beneath the comfort of the unseen, Princess Margret had been announced for the first time to the public. Ugly scar, nose, and blinding green eyes were hidden behind a demeanor of elegance.  She had never once fooled herself into thinking she was pretty, never once had the notion tried her mind. But it was glorious. Having men talk to her, having other girls smile upon her as if she were one of them. Then, she had seen him.

It was a wonder how even though it was in another world, Marge could still feel the heartbreak in her chest. Could still feel all the pain she had felt that night.  Sometimes, when she was on the verge of letting it all out she could blur him out, but she could never get rid of his eyes.  Sparkling like two orbs of captured night sky against his tanned complexion and dark tousles of hair. It had been love at first sight for Marge and him, well she had found out quite soon after what he thought of her – first impressions had hardly mattered.

A dance; that was all it had taken before Marge found herself completely and utterly in love. He had led her out of the ballroom, her pristine white glove in his warm hand that shot tingles up her spine. He was laughing at something she had said, the first joke she had ever made that anyone had truly found funny and for the umpteenth time that night, though the first in a long time, Marge was smiling. Nothing she could do would wipe that or the hope that was bubbling in her chest; it was the love in all the stories – until she had given him her biggest secret. Trusted him with her biggest fear and hoping he could find it in himself to see what more there was than just her face. She had expected too much from someone too beautiful.

A lone tear trailed down her cheek as she stared into the depths of the small fire near the mouth of her tent. Everyone else had retired to their tents – or cave in Vladimir’s case – and she, as per usual, was left alone to dwell in what had been. What she knew now would never have been. Her hands fisted themselves, the scraps of what remained of her beautiful elbows gloves brushing against her skin. There was so much to blame, on him, on that stupid girl that had Marge tethered and helpless, but most of all, the cause of it all, love. That stupid four letter word that a young, ugly, naïve girl had fallen under. Marge would never let anyone make that mistake again.

Melody had been walking alone for quite some time in the chilled night air. Her toes felt as if they were frozen together and her cardigan was doing nothing to reserve the precious little body heat she had left.

Damn the day she had ever decided that Ian would make a good male lead in her stories. Him and his jean colored eyes and devil-make-care smile, the leanness of his body and the thickness of his dark locks. If she hadn’t been so hung up on what her Prince Charming would look like maybe she would have had the decency to make him uglier. Her lips pressed into a firm line at the childish idea that there was such thing as Fairytales.