He was meant to be there as the match-maker, the Weaver, not the Matched. I watched it all, unable to stop it, but also not wanting to.
Who wants to stand in the way of love?
I was there the day he brought two Matched together. Part of the camera crew to document the further success of the Weavers. Never before had I struggled with a Matching. The Weaver’s choices always made sense. They always followed a pattern. But when this Weaver showed up with his boy-man. I wasn’t the only one to scoff at the match.
I never thought I’d see the world this way. A perfect resemblance of a YA dystopian novel. If I’d known how hard this life was, I’d never have entertained myself with hours of devouring those novels.
We’ve been traveling for days.
Bone weary and chilled through threadbare coats. There’s been nothing but grey stormy skies and frostbitten wind pushing at our tattered clothes. I can’t remember the last time I felt clean. Most of the streams we pass are frozen over and the places the water does still flow are green with toxins. Continue reading
I’m being tricked, I know it, but there doesn’t seem to be a way out.
It started yesterday. I woke to find a man sitting at the foot of my bed. I have no idea how he got there, but to say I was scared is the understatement of the year.
It’s as if I’ve become a fly on the wall, able to observe everything like the eye of a camera. And I watch a man with dark hair and dark-rimmed glasses take in the room before him.
He’s new. The duffle bag in his left hand makes that obvious.
He glances from bed, to bed in the large dorm room and I can tell by the way he pulls his brows together he’s not sure which one is meant to be his. Continue reading
We’ve managed to randomly bump into each other several times now, like providence is guiding our paths together in some love-struck rom-com.
He’s beautiful and charming and everything I want in a guy. Basically he’s Prince Charming.
Except one thing. Continue reading
It only comes back to me in fragments. But the feel of it remains with me long after.
I’m shopping. Laughing, having fun.
Only the store I’m browsing is filled with urns and coffins. Continue reading
My parents scowl at me like I’ve insulted them to their cores. All because I’ve professed my love for our stable-hand.
No, he is not of noble blood, but he has the heart of a prince.
Why can’t they see that? Continue reading