If you can look at the sky and find Cassiopeia, I believe in you, you can prove fairy tales.
***
In which The Universe recounts the story of the girl who fell off from fairy land.
[TROPHIES]
1st place, short story genre of THE WINNER AWARDS
1st plac...
"Why did you agree to marry me?" The Englishman asked Cassie. She couldn't quite remember his name, all she recollected of him was his golden hair, blue eyes and his raspy thick British accent.
"I'm pretty happy, sir. There's no reason for my agreement." Her smile blickered.
He took her palm in his and she shivered; not out of fright or anguish, but out of the sudden feel of a man's touch after so long.
"Don't," she resisted as she did to Estevan.
The Englishman did not pull away but gently kissed her knuckles. Cassiopeia blined a few times. Her lips did not curve to form a shy smile of a bride-to-be.
"I see you're too shy miss," he smirked at her. "Shy of your husband?"
"You are not yet me husband, Mister..." Cassiopeia immediately realised that she had no idea of his name.
"Ezra Taylor," he smiled curtly, unoffended.
"Yes, sure. I remembered," she blurted.
"Hopefully," he sipped in his glass of fine whiskey that Mr. Barlos had specially bought from England.
Cassiopeia shifted from her place. She felt as if she was cheating on Mr. Taylor. How much she wanted to tell him that she could never love him!
"I'm in love with you Cassiopeia." He whispered, his eyes were fixated on Cassie's chocolate brown eyes and cherry red lips. Cassie blushed.
"I..."
"You do not have to answer to that, dear. I know you cannot fall in love with a stranger all of a sudden. Therefore I'll give you time, as much as you want. But one day, I believe you will be mine. And I'm counting on that day, love."
Cassiopeia could never be Ezra's. She could not be of that Englishman's who rode on vintage jeep and flirted meticulously, who knew what romance was. Cassie's heart and mind belonged to that one Greek boy, an angry little boy with mud smeared shirt and olive eyes that twinkled like Procyon.
The Englishman's aphrodisiac gaze was too piercing for Cassiopeia to look down anymore. Once, she dared to look up, she could see nothing of the yellow room or the violet light; she couldn't smell her favourite cherry fragrance or feel the furry mattress beneath her feet.
She saw a pair of haughty, olive eyes looking at her with a crooked smile. A ten year old with his hands in his pockets, the ends of his cheeks making crescent dimples.
That familiar ten year old with an angry face was saying, "Oh, silly Cassie. Cassiopeia is not a star! Cassiopeia is never a star!"
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