You know, the people who write “they lived happily ever after” aren’t the people living the ever after. They don’t know. They seem to just stop the story at the wedding and assume that weddings make you happy and that happiness sticks around forever.
My father had promised my hand in marriage to whomever rescued me from the ogre. A sensible transaction; without a daughter, his family line could not continue, and a man strong, brave, and clever enough to defeat an ogre is the kind of blood you want in your line. Of course, I didn’t know I was being sold to the highest bidder, I had more pressing concerns at that moment. I wasn’t the only girl the ogre had stolen. Five of us huddled together for warmth at the back of the ogre’s cave, devising a plan of escape.
If anything, this guy ruined our plan, and it’s amazing that we still managed to all escape. And rescue him from the ogre. The guy was a better storyteller than rescuer. His recounting of the events didn’t sound familiar to me, but my father bought it, so the wedding was planned.
My fellow captives became my bridesmaids. We all agreed that the flowers were lovely, the dress was lovely, the groom was lovely, the castle was lovely. Yes, it was a much lovelier place to be held captive than an ogre’s cave. So, we huddled together and devised a lovely plan of escape.
Well, there was a wedding, and the bride did live happily ever after. Just not with the groom.
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You know me; love to disrupt a “happy” ending!
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Photo credit: Jess Hunter