Friday, 10 June 2016

[3/52] - a retelling of a fairy tale

As I sit here in her bedroom, I wonder how I could've ever doubted that this reward would pay out the risks. She's so beautiful, yet so fragile, yet so full of spirit. Her porcelain skin is almost reflective in the dim moonlight. She looks ill, I admit, but still as elegant as ever, hooked up to machines and wires, yet as dignified as ever. She smiles at me so wide that I'm afraid her face will break into two.

"Shhhhhh," I whisper, holding out the bag of smuggled cookies. She reaches for one tentatively, as though I will yell "SYKE" and jump back out the window from whence I came. Her face melts before she has even finished chewing her first bite.

My heart soars before footsteps on the stairs paralyse me momentarily. The footsteps pass and disappear. I breathe in a sigh of relief.

"I'm sorry," she shakes her head. "This is ridiculous. You don't need to be here." She nudges me toward the window.

I giggle under my breath, a light tinkle like a tiny bell. "Nothing could keep me from my princess." I lift her hand and kiss it between the many drips and monitor wires.

"You know what will happen if my mother catches you up here…"

"She'll have to drag me tooth and nail from your side."

"You're ridiculous."

"You have to be to climb three storeys up an unreliable rope ladder just to deliver cookies to a dying princess, but conveniently, I love you."

She rolls her eyes.

I run my fingers over her delicate hand. She sighs contentedly.

Her most striking physical feature is her long, golden hair. Chemotherapy usually kills hair calls, but she's lucky enough for hers to just continue growing. She's also unlucky enough for the chemotherapy to not kill the cancer cells.

"You know we can't be together forever," she whispers.

"I am quite content with being together right now."


As I sit here in her bedroom, I notice the smell of cookies on her breath and the chill in her hand. She's so beautiful, yet fragile, yet full of spirit.

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