Reminds me of what my mom said.
What if my life were a Romance Novel?
I could see the setting in my head already.
Teenaged girl, outcast. Secretly part of epic society where people fight to be themselves and win the battle instantly. There is intrigue and danger, "sexy" vampires and a handsome Prince that's secretly evil, a council, traditions and Laws and things we have to hide.
A boy at school. Flutter flutter. A Knight.
A girl at school. Wide winged and soaring. A faery with an angel's wings.
The Faery and the Blade,
the Faery and the Blade.
Another girl. The ocean. You can see it in her eyes, and when she speaks, the world stops. She is good and beautiful and clever, because I'm allowed creative License. She loves them, and the girl doesn't love her. The man is charming and suave and not-quite handsome, old-world and gentle. The woman is confidant and strong and loyal and beautiful. When the Ocean pictures magic, all she can see in her head is the woman's eye color.
Team Finley or Team Katie?
And the villain, and the fight, and the world. My life... people would kill for it. The danger, the mystery.
What I can't convey to them is that which they already desire; the worshipful behavior towards her, how hard it is to do the right thing. How cutting your forearm to stop a war makes you scream, and you can't stop the scream, even if it stops the war.
When you people read your romance Novels and the hero sacrifices something to win, you smile at yourselves like they were a pawn in chess. Sacrificed for the greater good.
But their wounds, their struggles, whatever they gave, is given now. Given for the greater good that you wear with undeserved pride on your chests, huffing with the effort of understanding their brilliance.
What I can’t convey to them is how their touch feels on you, that of your enemies or Lovers. I can’t give to you the pain of rejection or the feeling that you’ve just ended a war. I can’t tell you that after I’ve bitten someone to protect them, I sometimes still excuse myself to curl up into a human ball and cry.
The Roses, the people like them, your heroes? They envy you. You Envy us. Ordinary people can be heroes, and heroes can be ordinary. The only difference is what you make of it yourselves, what you are willing to fight for. The choices you are willing to make.
She still doesn’t love me. And I still sacrificed so much for her. When I tell any one of you the truth, you judge me, and then you tell me to be myself.
Do you want to see myself? Silvered hair and flowing sleeves and a sparkling laugh?
I would not see the terror in your eyes, my dears, my human loves.
Continue
With your dreaming.
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