Title: Not Everyone's a Muse
Genre: Drama, General
Pairing: Mostly centric.
Summary: Not every fairytale is made of magical fairies, pretty princesses and perfect princes.
Notes: Inspired by my rants about Edward Cullen being too maddeningly perfect (I hate him by the way for needing nothing from his flame) for Bella Swan in Twilight, but basically it has nothing to do with this. Was what I just said weird? This is just a drabble.
Disclaimers: Not mine.
And they lived happily ever after.
Bright innocent eyes, awed smiles and timid love twitter. Naïve love, pure intentions. How most people loved fairytales. It is seemingly odd, how teenage women found these fictional fantasies ultimately fascinating, when in honest truth they knew they were all foolish fallacy.
Everyone is the main character in their own fairytales. Everyone's the protagonist in their own story.
Then if I'm the princess of my story I'd be the worst princess alive.
I've got Helga's brown hair as mine, not Rapunzel's shining blonde. I've got pale, slender lips, not Aurora's full, rosy ones that Evan wanted to kiss. I've got flawed, rough skin, not Snow White's fair and smooth one. As for my eyes I've got bespectacled, russet ones, not Cinderella's brilliant orbs.
Most of all, I've got not Ariel's great body but the built I've grown to despise.
Yet, highly delusional as it was, it was quite simple to believe I was in the focused limelight of my own story. It was terribly easy to pretend, to be a damned hypocrite, or to try. And as much as I knew it was all an elaborate illusion, still I continued on and agreed to be the part of my own dream. That is, to meet my prince and be loved.
To be my prince's only beloved princess.
As impossible as it is, my prince turned out to be the perfect prince. With raven black hair, chalk-white skin, clear, cerulean eyes and a chiseled physique. He treasured basketball with zealous desire, and how he prided sleeping.
As his magical princess I grew close with him, became the best of friends eventually, and the rest was history.
Because every pathetic dream ends in a bitter conclusion. The tears did not escape my swollen eyes from thinking of him all night long as he looked at me coldly, scrutinizing my soul, and the painful words of rejection rolled off his lips in his mighty voice. I would've given it my all, to make him love me in return, for the flame for him that burned inside me was too much that I cannot forget him, not ever did the incredulous idea appear in my wildest dreams. But inside I knew the problem was he didn't love me, and nothing I could do would change that. The tears did not escape, instead they flooded inside, drowned all that's within me as I muttered again and again…he's gone.
If I cannot be the happy, loved princess I dreamed to be then I decided I'll be the strongest one. I tried to go on, as any headstrong princess would.
And I succeeded. As you have seen this wasn't your ordinary romance novel. I brought him down. I had my fair share of glory.
I have clearly seen the devastating pain in his face as I cruelly returned him his own words, the excruciating ones he used on me before. I went shivering and cold, but I nonchalantly ignored all possible sensation. Because by then I completely understood I was dead. And being lifeless gave me the privilege of failing to feel. To feel pain. The pain he had ruthlessly inflicted upon me.
I hardened myself as he pleaded me, as he told me he needed me. And I shook my head, because no, he didn't and doesn't love me. He cannot love anybody like me. Because I was ugly, inhumanely ugly both in the outside and in any other place.
Alas the most surprising words escaped his throat.
Now I understand. I was never a princess. He was never a prince too. He was a god. A god of power, beauty and pride. We were worlds apart.
But I was the one he loved. I was the one, but he had turned away because he felt terribly dirty, unworthy.
We were one, we would've been one. I want to brush his tears away today, I want to tell him I love him too, but I can't. Because things can never be the same again. Because the flame of my heart had been extinguished by the scorching ache.
The crushing truth was: I was never contented by inflicting revenge on him. By getting back at him I gained nothing. Because when I stopped feeling pain, I also stopped feeling happiness.
A/N: I'd really like to end this without the author's notes but since it's already VERY obvious, I'm giving the away the fact that the guy's Rukawa. The girl is NOT Haruko, (yes, the speaker was a girl) Imagine. LOL. I know my humor's desperate.
But really, I was thinking of an unlikely character from another anime as the girl, yet she's basically anyone readers would want her to be.