#tusersvolt

i sat by the lake last week and i offered my mother

a slice of my orange, and she said no

and i felt so lonely that i pretended i was two people

you look like a renaissance painting in the grass,

and you have two freckles on the shell of your right ear.

i want to paint small flowers on our hands,

and maybe brush your hair away from your face, feel its softness.

She was often called into the prince's room to bring hot chocolate, late at night when the curtains were drawn, the moon was out, the palace asleep. She would knock timidly on the ornate door, tray of cocoa in hand, and Prince Drystan would call her in. She could always hear the smile in his voice through the door. He used to be so happy.

She placed the tray on the bed where Drystan was perched, seemingly alone. She knew better, though.

“Shall I bring biscuits for you and the Illeron boy?” She would ask Drystan, who’s eyes would widen. They used to sparkle with childish mischief. Innocence. If only he could have known what he would become. If only she could have known.

“I - what? Kyrell’s asleep in his own room, I presume.” Drystan insisted. She would purse her lips, smile, and nod, leaving the room. She would then hover in the hallway for a moment, just a moment, and hear the Illeron boy emerge from the closet and hear his and Drystan’s laughter as they sipped their hot cocoa. She would smile, then hurry back down to the kitchens and return with biscuits, which she would place in front of the door, knock, and dash away again.

She wouldn’t leave completely, though. She had a strange fascination with the prince and the Illeron boy. They were so utterly and completely happy together, exchanging laughs and insults over hot cocoa and biscuits, building forts and stargazing. She would take extra shifts at the palace to watch them, to bring them their cocoa and their biscuits, and, when they were younger, she would be sent out to the market for lollipops. Kyrell had grown out of that, though, but he certaintly hadn’t grown out of Drystan.

She hovered in the hallway as Drystan peaked his dark head out, looking back and forth the long dark hallway before picking up the basket of biscuits, smirking. She could’ve sworn she heard Drystan call “thank you” before going back inside, but it was probably just her imagination.