That moment, when her hand made contact his face, was burned into their son's mind. It rewrote his definition of the world in which he now lived, the throne that ruled it, and of the school that produced the voices of the Red House and the queens of the Gold. It caught not the people who gave him birth and raised him, but the gears behind the clock face, the machine that ruled in the king's name.
They weren’t his parents; this wasn't his family.
The boy remained huddled in the shadow of the red lace tree only long enough for the woman to run out of the garden with her husband on her heels. He had no plans as he darted out from his shelter into the now-steady afternoon shower, only a romantic idea planted in his mind a day earlier by a daydreaming manservant: to live like the gypsy, to pick a road and run, whether back or breast to the wind, and never look back.
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lovely descriptive writing.
ReplyDeleteLove your writing style, it's so rich and descriptive.
ReplyDeleteLove this six. Very emotional. So sad he's running. :(
ReplyDeleteNice six
ReplyDeleteFelt as if I was immersed in a fairy tale, in the best possible sense! Very evocative snippet, thank you!
ReplyDeleteBeautifully written. Well done.
ReplyDeleteGreat 6, thanks for sharing!
ReplyDeleteSad and intriguing. I get the sense we're seeing the first of many rash choices from this character.
ReplyDeleteThat must have been the world's most earth-shattering slap to change his whole perspective like that.
ReplyDelete