Fortune's Fool (Challenge #148) -- PG-13
Posted: Mon Apr 29, 2013 12:18 am
For our April challenge. No infringement intended, as always. Thanks to Allegrita for a read and suggestions!
Fortune’s Fool
He’d told her it would be a little cool for a picnic in the park, but as usual, she was too headstrong to listen.
“It’ll be the perfect temperature. The paper said it would get up to 63.”
Charles cocked an eyebrow thoughtfully. From what he’d seen, and smelled, the thermometer wasn’t going to be getting out of the 50’s that day. The cold didn’t bother him, of course, but Sarah was considerably more fragile. But as usual, he found her impossible to resist.
And shortly, he found himself trailing after her across a grassy meadow. Even at noon, the spring sun was still misty, the light softened by rolling clouds. It was still more than bright enough for him, but he ignored the glare in his eyes for the radiance of her happiness. It was in everything about her—the way she walked, the sound of her laugh, the waves of scent rolling off her. He knew he was besotted, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care, because she didn’t care. And today, he wanted to be her attentive lover, the kind who would carry the picnic basket in the park, following a beautiful young woman with a plaid blanket folded over her arm, looking for the ideal spot to alight. In the distance, he could hear children laughing, their high voices floating on the cool breeze as they ran and played.
Finally, at the top of a small rise, just next to a wooded copse, she paused, turning to him. “I think this’ll do,” she said.
Charles set down the basket, his hand going into his jacket pocket to find the little jewelry box. He flipped the catch one-handed, and extracted the item within by touch. “Looks good to me,” he smiled.
Sarah shook out the blanket, and spread it carefully on the grass, smoothing out a wrinkle here, a lump there, and anchoring it with the basket on one corner. “I know you don’t really eat,” she said, “but I thought we could share a glass of wine.”
“To gaze on you is feast enough for kings.”
“That’s beautiful, Charles. Is it from a poem?”
He shrugged. “I don’t remember. But it seemed appropriate. Now turn around, I have a present for you.”
Her eyes sparkled as she obeyed, and he brought the chain of the filigreed heart locket around her throat, fastening the clasp at the nape of her neck. She turned again, into his kiss, and he thought there could be no greater happiness, no more perfect moment than here, than now.
He knew the one thing she wanted, more than anything else. He’d refused for months, telling her of the danger, of the consequences of becoming as he was. She hadn’t nagged, hadn’t begged, but nevertheless, the question had remained on the table. He thought about having her forever, frozen in time, his perfect lover, his perfect mate for all eternity. Weighed that against the idea of her aging, of the slow decay of life claiming her, taking her away from him. And suddenly, he found he couldn’t live with the idea of it, couldn’t bear the idea of her changing. He didn’t care anymore what was natural, or right, or safe. If she wished it, he would turn her, and she would be his forever. If he felt any foreboding, any faint ripple of fear, he ignored it.
As he drew back, he nodded, and murmured one word to her.
“Tonight.”
But even as he said it, the thought crossed his mind. “Whatever happens, I am fortune’s fool.”
Fortune’s Fool
He’d told her it would be a little cool for a picnic in the park, but as usual, she was too headstrong to listen.
“It’ll be the perfect temperature. The paper said it would get up to 63.”
Charles cocked an eyebrow thoughtfully. From what he’d seen, and smelled, the thermometer wasn’t going to be getting out of the 50’s that day. The cold didn’t bother him, of course, but Sarah was considerably more fragile. But as usual, he found her impossible to resist.
And shortly, he found himself trailing after her across a grassy meadow. Even at noon, the spring sun was still misty, the light softened by rolling clouds. It was still more than bright enough for him, but he ignored the glare in his eyes for the radiance of her happiness. It was in everything about her—the way she walked, the sound of her laugh, the waves of scent rolling off her. He knew he was besotted, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care, because she didn’t care. And today, he wanted to be her attentive lover, the kind who would carry the picnic basket in the park, following a beautiful young woman with a plaid blanket folded over her arm, looking for the ideal spot to alight. In the distance, he could hear children laughing, their high voices floating on the cool breeze as they ran and played.
Finally, at the top of a small rise, just next to a wooded copse, she paused, turning to him. “I think this’ll do,” she said.
Charles set down the basket, his hand going into his jacket pocket to find the little jewelry box. He flipped the catch one-handed, and extracted the item within by touch. “Looks good to me,” he smiled.
Sarah shook out the blanket, and spread it carefully on the grass, smoothing out a wrinkle here, a lump there, and anchoring it with the basket on one corner. “I know you don’t really eat,” she said, “but I thought we could share a glass of wine.”
“To gaze on you is feast enough for kings.”
“That’s beautiful, Charles. Is it from a poem?”
He shrugged. “I don’t remember. But it seemed appropriate. Now turn around, I have a present for you.”
Her eyes sparkled as she obeyed, and he brought the chain of the filigreed heart locket around her throat, fastening the clasp at the nape of her neck. She turned again, into his kiss, and he thought there could be no greater happiness, no more perfect moment than here, than now.
He knew the one thing she wanted, more than anything else. He’d refused for months, telling her of the danger, of the consequences of becoming as he was. She hadn’t nagged, hadn’t begged, but nevertheless, the question had remained on the table. He thought about having her forever, frozen in time, his perfect lover, his perfect mate for all eternity. Weighed that against the idea of her aging, of the slow decay of life claiming her, taking her away from him. And suddenly, he found he couldn’t live with the idea of it, couldn’t bear the idea of her changing. He didn’t care anymore what was natural, or right, or safe. If she wished it, he would turn her, and she would be his forever. If he felt any foreboding, any faint ripple of fear, he ignored it.
As he drew back, he nodded, and murmured one word to her.
“Tonight.”
But even as he said it, the thought crossed his mind. “Whatever happens, I am fortune’s fool.”