A/N - This is a little different to my other stories on here, but it's an idea I've had for a while and I hope you enjoy it. Reviews are much appreciated :-)
Disclaimer - The characters, unfortunately do not belong to me.
You believe yourself incapable of love, but you're anything but...
You love her like you were taught an older sister should; dutifully, selflessly. You give her advice when she needs it, and keep her company when she is lonely. At night, when she is restless you even sing her to sleep.
It is easy, at first to overlook the privileges she gets – privileges that you never had, and doubt you will ever receive - because she deserves them; or so you are told.
When she is younger you forgive her mistakes because she is smaller and weaker and, you believe, more beautiful; you envy her. But as she grows older you forgive her mistakes simply because you see what she has become; spoilt and bitter, and part of you pities her.
You protect her until you are forced to walk away, but you know even then that she will find someone else to look after her, for although she longs for independence, she clings to others quite persistently. You once wished – in the secrecy of your mind - that you could focus on leading your own life, instead of always putting her first but when you're replaced by strangers and maids, and eventually a pair of shoes that allow her the freedom she has always claimed to crave, you don't know quite what to think.
Still, you accept it because you love her. You have to love her; she is family.
Your roommate is different.
At first you fool yourself into believing you love her as a friend, a best friend – the best you'll ever have - but a friend all the same.
It is only when you feel those soft lips pressed against your own for the first time that you begin to understand; only when you realise the way in which she loves you that you can finally allow yourself to admit it is something more.
This love is innocent, yet passionate; fiery but calm. It is a contradiction; over before it really began, and yet somehow never ending. It is first love and just maybe it is true love, but it is veiled by pretence - people choose not to see – taking place behind closed doors, in the dark, under a thin sheet that barely covers one of you, let alone two.
It is unforgettable, but you treat it as if it were throw away because it's easier like that, easier to pretend you don't care; or so you tell yourself.
You always thought she would tire of you, yet her feelings remain loyal, and ever present; at least, to those who know you well. In the end, without ever meaning to, it is you that breaks her heart. You never do realise just how much she loves you.
He is a prince. A man of riches, and ties; responsibilities of both the political and the personal kind. He is everything you could so easily have hated. And yet you see past his title, and his seemingly forgotten family, as he saw past your emerald skin.
You see that he feels as lost and out of place in this world as you do sometimes, and you see yourself falling for him, although you do everything you can to try and stop it from happening.
When you realise resistance is no longer possible, you give in. You love him with a passion equalled only by your cause. You love him with a heart that is already broken, and for a time you allow him to try and heal it. He becomes your hero.
You share him with his undeserving wife, as you once shared Glinda with the so called friends she fought so hard to impress, and sometimes you can't help but wonder if, like them, she simply chooses to turn a blind eye. You act as though it doesn't bother you, although one day you will realise it does. But what can you do?
The love you have found signifies happiness, and contentment; the calm before the storm. And yet it is a storm in itself; a tempest whipped up from lust, and desire, and all that is forbidden. It marks the end of an era...and the start of something new.
You can barely stand to look at him sometimes.
He is so different to his father that you often deny their connection, yet when he looks at you with those big, blue eyes, they are so familiar it makes your heart wrench.
You never tell him that you love him, but you know words that are left unspoken are often as true as those that are said aloud; his father taught you that.
You look out for him from a far, always watching him out of the corner of your eye – although you would never admit it.
As a mother you are inexperienced and ill equipped, but you feed and clothe him, and do all you can to keep him safe because, whether you like it or not, he is yours. This is the first time anyone has truly belonged to you, but as unnatural as it feels you know, deep down, it is quite the opposite – why else would you allow him to stay with you? Why else would you despise him so?
It is a strange kind of love; disguised by moments of awkward silence; displays of anger and resentment. But it is unconditional and unexplainable, and it is perhaps the most real love of all.