Hug Me and You'll Die

13: You're so awed by my brilliance you can't even speak?

Two days after Desmia made the most significant concession in her life as an earl's daughter, she stood alone in her lab absentmindedly dicing the silver sugar plums in her possession. On a whim she had decided to experiment with the plums as raw materials in an elixir instead of just snacking on them as they were.

In her right hand was a large cleaver almost too big for a child's grasp that she had snuck out of the kitchen without Saffron's knowledge. As her knife work could only be described as haphazard at best, plum juices and little bits of hardened silver candy coating splattered onto the surrounding counter space, ground, and old grey smock that Saffron had enforced on her.

The smock had been fashioned from a scrap piece of cloth that Lady Cattleya had once practiced embroidery on. From it, one could infer that Lady Cattleya lacked embroidery skills as the pattern of the Fairbloom family crest that she had tried to embroider over and over again, bared no resemblance to the original.

When Marysol had first seen her work, she didn't even realize that Lady Cattleya had been embroidering the family crest and had tactlessly asked her mother why she had repeatedly used the pattern of a moldy piece of bread to embroider with when she had far more beautiful patterns to choose from. How could she have possibly have known that those blue blobs that she thought were patches of mold supposed to be the blue roses on their crest?

When the silver sugar plums had been hacked into tiny pieces she stopped to stare at them with a gloomy expression.

I'm actually engaged to the Ice Block....It's only our first lifetime together and the God of Literature's stupid little "let's make them get along" campaign has already progressed to this state.

Although presently, she had more or less given up on resisting her engagement to Ferris, she still became aggravated when she thought about how the God of Literature was likely somewhere in the Godly Realm cackling at the success of his vengeful machinations.

Now that we've reached this point, what can I still do that would royally f*ck with that insidious lunatic's grand scheme?

She scraped the cleaver diagonally across the cutting board to gather the pieces of fruit onto the surface of the broad blade.

What would piss him off more than anything?

She chucked the contents on the blade into a melon-sized pot filled with water.

Let's see.....Wait a minute...I totally forgot! The God of Literature seems to be after the Goddess of Love!

She rested the pot on top of a small clay stove and lit the candle placed inside of it to begin heating up the mixture. Following which, she dipped a wooden ladle into the pot.

Sixth brother believes that these novels were painstakingly written in place of love letters for her, right? That's why he cares so much about them and that's why he flipped his sh*t when he found out we physically wrecked them.....But what if...what if I did more than just physically wreck them?...What if I wrecked the very essence of the stories themselves?

In this instance, Desmia was stirring the pot both literally and figuratively as her hand was busy stirring the contents inside her actual pot while her mind was stirring up an ingenious plan.

Yes...that's exactly it! That's how I can retaliate! I'll derail the trajectory of his sappy, melodramatic and clichéd romances and change the story to my own liking! If nothing goes the way he wrote it to be, that insidious fogey, the God of Literature will surely be infuriated!

In the shadowy recess where the stove was affixed, she snickered in a villainous way that was truly at odds with her sweet and lovable face.

All I have to do is find out how the original plot of each novel develops and then overturn it!