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- namjoons lasttiddieje citiralaпре 10 месеци
“Hey, by the way: I love you.” Her hands are jammed in her jeans pockets now, her eyes are still on the sky. “You don’t have to say anything back—I know about your rules—I just thought you should know before you—”
I tip my head against her shoulder, right where Superman’s hair curls against his forehead. “I love you, too.” It’s surprisingly easy to say, like the final tug that unties a knot. “It was a stupid rule.”
“Hot, but stupid, like I’ve always said.” Charm’s voice is rough and gluey, full of tears again. “Will you come home? When you’re ready?” - namjoons lasttiddieje citiralaпре 10 месециI’m turning away when Prince Harold says, his voice thick and fleshy through his swollen nose, “I don’t understand.” His eyes are on Primrose and Charm, on the place where their hands are joined together so tightly they look like a single creature.
“Well, Harold,” I say gently. “They’re lesbians.” - namjoons lasttiddieje citiralaпре 10 месециBut in the very oldest versions of this story—before the Grimms, before Perrault—the prince does far worse than kiss her, and the princess never wakes up.
I make myself keep listening to Zellandine, unflinching. I always hate it when people flinch from me, as if my wounds are weapons.
“I did not tend the prince’s hearth after that. I hoped—if I were
quiet and careful enough—I might be safe. That it might be over.” Zellandine’s fingers spread against the softness of her own stomach. “Soon it became clear that it wasn’t.”
In that oldest story the still-sleeping princess gives birth nine months after the prince visits her in the tower. Her hungry child suckles at her fingertips and removes the splinter of flax, and only then does she wake from her poisoned sleep.
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