Because it's...you know. [She shakes her head.] It wasn't real anyway, and it was things I already knew, and things I already gave up on. I just need to put it behind me and keep going.
[Why must he be so persistent? Rosamund's flushing a bit in the cheeks, unsure of what to say and unable to exit the conversation gracefully.]
I'm aware, I just — it was my Happy Ending, all right?
[She throws a hand in the air and slaps it back on her knee. Fine. She gives up.]
It was everything that my story should have been, with my family and my prince and we were going to be married, and it felt so...I never got there. I don't have it anymore. I traded it away for chance to live my own life. Being in that illusion — I never realized how perfect it would be.
[Her gaze never lands on him. She's gripping the bottom of her seat and speaking to some distant point on the floor, letting her hair fall forward, getting any kind of cover she can.]
Then the real thing bled in. The briars came. And they all turned to bones on the thorns. My parents — and my prince was caught and bleeding and dying. He'd been there for days by the time I found him. His horse was rotting underneath him. None of them made it through. So many men came for me, and they all met their death.
And for what? What's the point of a story like that?
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[Not that she got it, really. Everyone here was oh so keen.]
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[and yuri's said a couple of things about what they went through, already.]
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Oh, I know, I know. I'm just — I didn't want to be a bother when there's actually serious things happening.
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I'm aware, I just — it was my Happy Ending, all right?
[She throws a hand in the air and slaps it back on her knee. Fine. She gives up.]
It was everything that my story should have been, with my family and my prince and we were going to be married, and it felt so...I never got there. I don't have it anymore. I traded it away for chance to live my own life. Being in that illusion — I never realized how perfect it would be.
[Her gaze never lands on him. She's gripping the bottom of her seat and speaking to some distant point on the floor, letting her hair fall forward, getting any kind of cover she can.]
Then the real thing bled in. The briars came. And they all turned to bones on the thorns. My parents — and my prince was caught and bleeding and dying. He'd been there for days by the time I found him. His horse was rotting underneath him. None of them made it through. So many men came for me, and they all met their death.
And for what? What's the point of a story like that?