An Innocent Fantasy

Mid-Morning



“Good morning, Master Berilac.”

My heart pounds faster. “Hello, Miss Margueritte,” I manage to reply.

Can it truly be surprising that round-cheeked smile and friendly eye should so capture my imagination, when the dread cold of a marriage bed now grudgingly shared is my daily reward? Is it any worse that my dreams fill with fresh kindness than to merely lose myself in wood, in ale, in friendship, in toil?

“Goodbye, Margueritte.”

Who would forbid an innocent fantasy to warm me, forever bonded in a joining soured by the unforeseen, my scarred face an indelible reminder of times best forgot?

******
tbc