clarasteam

Princess Glauce, pretty as a picture. No marks on her smooth body, I'll be bound. Childbearing takes its toll on a woman's looks, whatever we slap on our skin to hide the signs. It's bitten into our flesh, indelible: what it cost to bring these fragile lives into the world. I would rather stand three times in the front line of battle than give birth to one child.

You say you're making this marriage for us, for me and the boys. Do you even believe that? Perhaps: you've always been a good liar. But what comes next will burn away your lies, leave you choking on ash and bitter air.

I make the boys put on their best clothes, drill them in what to say and how to move. Garland them with flowers, for a wedding, for a sacrifice.

This is what everyone will remember of our story: that there were no limits, there was nothing I would not do to stop my enemies from laughing at me.

The dress glitters in the sun, a blur of brightness rising from it like a steam. Skin-tight: it'll fit her like a glove. You're not the only one who likes shiny things.