Post by indifferentred on Aug 26, 2013 7:19:00 GMT 10
Title: The Unhappy Inventor
Rating: PG-13
Category: Tortall <1000 words
Length: 585
Original and Subsequent Haunts: None
Summary: Maura knows that, through all her bad decisions, there is still one person she can rely on.
Notes: Implied sex; implied hypothetical violence.
When he attends her wedding, he keeps himself at the back, in the shadows, and watches as she gives herself to another man. He should be delighted, of course - Maura needs companionship, and her strength and fire make her the perfect woman to run any man’s estate. Besides, Maura wants a family, wants children. Sir Derren can give her those things. Given time, he will make her happy. He tries to convince himself of this fact during the small party afterwards, but his resolve quavers at the last minute, and he impulsively kisses Maura’s cheek, just before he relinquishes her hand. “Call on me, if ever you have need. Promise me.”
He is glad of making that promise. Glad when, four months later, she calls on him at his town house, looking as though she has aged millennia since last they met. She does not speak for quite a while - just sits in his drawing room, weighed down with sadness. At last, he dares ask, “Has he been… hurting you? Forcing himself on you?”
She looks up at him, puzzled, and then her face relaxes into a wan smile. “My husband,” she confesses quietly, “is not sufficiently interested in me to make the attempt. He spends most of his time in Corus. With his… friends.”
He raises an enquiring eyebrow. “Friends? I’m afraid I don’t - “
She interrupts him heavily. “His mistresses.”
Douglass lets out a noise of mingled fury and grief. “Maura. I am so sorry. Can anything be done?”
She shakes her head. “It seems not. He isn’t cruel to me - as I say, we barely see each other. I entered the marriage willingly, after all.” She rubs her eyes. “He made no secret of the fact that he kept mistresses, before we were married. When he offered for me, he made it clear that I could not expect him to cease.”
He stands, goes to kneel beside her. “Then why in the name of Mithros did you marry him?”
She laughs, mirthlessly. “Foolishness. Stupidity. Impulsiveness.” She shrugged. “Does it matter? I did marry him. ‘In full knowledge of his faults’, the advocates call it. And now I’m stuck with him.”
“Of course it matters!” he snaps, voice raw with unshed tears.
Maura looks down, twisting her hands in her lap. “Alright,” she replies quietly. “I married him because I decided to grow up and stop dreaming. Not everything in life can be a fairytale, Douglass, and nor should it be. You taught me that. Didn’t I deserve to search for happiness where I could, even if it wasn’t exactly what I’d wished for myself?”
He covers his eyes and she pats his hand. “Don’t worry, Douglass. I’m not miserable. I have the estate. I’m forging a life for myself there.”
Douglass looks up at her; sees the light of stubbornness in her eyes and hates it. The Bazhir have a saying - they have many sayings: Only the jeweller knows the nature of the lost jewel. He never understood it before; he thinks he does now. He made her this way - encouraged her intelligence and her determination and that spark of fierce devotion to duty and refused her his love - and now only he will know what has been wasted on Derren of Fenrigh.
Maura rises to her feet. “I’m sorry for coming here,” she murmurs. “I didn’t mean to make you unhappy.”
He stands and kisses her hand. “Make me unhappy any time you choose,” he tells her softly, and he means it.
Rating: PG-13
Category: Tortall <1000 words
Length: 585
Original and Subsequent Haunts: None
Summary: Maura knows that, through all her bad decisions, there is still one person she can rely on.
Notes: Implied sex; implied hypothetical violence.
When he attends her wedding, he keeps himself at the back, in the shadows, and watches as she gives herself to another man. He should be delighted, of course - Maura needs companionship, and her strength and fire make her the perfect woman to run any man’s estate. Besides, Maura wants a family, wants children. Sir Derren can give her those things. Given time, he will make her happy. He tries to convince himself of this fact during the small party afterwards, but his resolve quavers at the last minute, and he impulsively kisses Maura’s cheek, just before he relinquishes her hand. “Call on me, if ever you have need. Promise me.”
He is glad of making that promise. Glad when, four months later, she calls on him at his town house, looking as though she has aged millennia since last they met. She does not speak for quite a while - just sits in his drawing room, weighed down with sadness. At last, he dares ask, “Has he been… hurting you? Forcing himself on you?”
She looks up at him, puzzled, and then her face relaxes into a wan smile. “My husband,” she confesses quietly, “is not sufficiently interested in me to make the attempt. He spends most of his time in Corus. With his… friends.”
He raises an enquiring eyebrow. “Friends? I’m afraid I don’t - “
She interrupts him heavily. “His mistresses.”
Douglass lets out a noise of mingled fury and grief. “Maura. I am so sorry. Can anything be done?”
She shakes her head. “It seems not. He isn’t cruel to me - as I say, we barely see each other. I entered the marriage willingly, after all.” She rubs her eyes. “He made no secret of the fact that he kept mistresses, before we were married. When he offered for me, he made it clear that I could not expect him to cease.”
He stands, goes to kneel beside her. “Then why in the name of Mithros did you marry him?”
She laughs, mirthlessly. “Foolishness. Stupidity. Impulsiveness.” She shrugged. “Does it matter? I did marry him. ‘In full knowledge of his faults’, the advocates call it. And now I’m stuck with him.”
“Of course it matters!” he snaps, voice raw with unshed tears.
Maura looks down, twisting her hands in her lap. “Alright,” she replies quietly. “I married him because I decided to grow up and stop dreaming. Not everything in life can be a fairytale, Douglass, and nor should it be. You taught me that. Didn’t I deserve to search for happiness where I could, even if it wasn’t exactly what I’d wished for myself?”
He covers his eyes and she pats his hand. “Don’t worry, Douglass. I’m not miserable. I have the estate. I’m forging a life for myself there.”
Douglass looks up at her; sees the light of stubbornness in her eyes and hates it. The Bazhir have a saying - they have many sayings: Only the jeweller knows the nature of the lost jewel. He never understood it before; he thinks he does now. He made her this way - encouraged her intelligence and her determination and that spark of fierce devotion to duty and refused her his love - and now only he will know what has been wasted on Derren of Fenrigh.
Maura rises to her feet. “I’m sorry for coming here,” she murmurs. “I didn’t mean to make you unhappy.”
He stands and kisses her hand. “Make me unhappy any time you choose,” he tells her softly, and he means it.