I was REALLY bored today, so I did a one hour writing sprint, and this draft was the result. It's completely unedited at the moment, so please excuse any and all mistakes you find. :)
And slowly the girl wakes up, stretches her arms, arches her back. Pulls herself out of bed, looks over at her sleeping lover, smiles lightly. Continues rolling her body around, stretching out the kinks from the night before. Sits down at her desk, starts writing in her journal about a night from her childhood, brought on because of a dream. She remembers hands soothing her everywhere, unidentified faces and voices calling her terms of royalty, then their sudden silence when another enters the room. Her father, alongside the man who is now her lover.
The brush of a pair of lips on her unadorned back, paired with the weight of another body sitting beside her on the massage bed. Her father gives a grunt of approval, leaves the room. Now there’s a warm arm curling around her, a whisper in her ear asking if she wishes to go out to an open air market.
The noise of her lover sitting up on the bed throws her out of the memories of a dream in a world long gone. She looks over to her lover, sees him as he was in another lifetime, hair long and straight and dark, not light brown, short, and curly. Sees eyes that are dark grey, potent as stars in the black night sky rather than a brown/green hazel blend.
She smiles, offers a good morning as her lover walks to the bathroom for his morning piss and a shower. Contemplating breakfast, she gets up from her desk, journal long since forgotten.
Looks in the kitchen; sees nothing of interest to eat even though lots of food is available. Realizes what she thought was the shower running is actually rain.
Jumps when thunder pops and the few lights on all flicker ominously. Maybe it really is only a day to snuggle up and watch movies in front of the fireplace. Sounds appealing, but not as much as usual.
There’s a lull in the rain; she hears her lover humming a familiar song as he finishes his post-shower bathroom ritual.
She turns back towards the fridge determined to make something edible—eggs—as her stomach rumbles. Opens the fridge again, grabbing for the eggs and butter. Sets them on the counter. Gets a pan from the cabinet it’s kept in. Unbeknownst to her, she starts humming a song: a lullaby. Lover calls her name, walks into her line of vision still adjusting his shower towel around his slim hips. She smiles, asks him if he can grab her some chocolate, a pan, and milk. Today feels like a day for fresh eggs and hot cocoa.
She loves the way his eyes light up so that she can see the little boy within as he hurries to fulfil her request. Continues prepping to cook, only to realize that she’s thinking about seeing him with a child, their child, with the same sort of morning routine.
Mentions this to her lover as he helps set up the cocoa while she scrambles the eggs to cook. He replies to her comment, lightly teasing about her being a homebody in training. A grin breaks across her face; he’s okay with the idea of a child.
Eggs are being poured into the butter-greased pan, milk has been poured into another pan, beginning to warm. Her lover wraps his arm around her waist, gives her a peck on the cheek. Tells her how much he loves her, how happy he is to have found her in this lifetime. She asks what of their past lives he remembers as the eggs finish cooking and chocolate pieces are added to the warming milk.
He asks if she wants the tales of their times as members of the royal class, the upper class, or the poor class. She stirs the cocoa, adds a bit of vanilla extract to it, and checks how the chocolate is melting. Tells him to get the mini marshmallows, pretending that his question didn’t direct her memories to a life that ended in her death during the childbirth of a stillborn baby and his capture by royal guards after being falsely identified as a highwayman while she took her last breaths.
He notices how she’s stilled, grips her arm; he caught the tail end of her painful reminiscing. Tears fill her eyes; his match as he grabs the spoon she’s been stirring with from her. He’s already plated the eggs.
She says something; she’s not entirely sure what, only knows the feeling of his comfort to take away her pain. There’s a suggestion of creating a child together as soon as she’s really ready. She rolls the the idea in her thoughts, sees a baby’s face in the cocoa as her lover continues to stir it. She is still wrapped up in his arm. Unsure of how that is possible. Detangles herself; grabs cinnamon from the spice rack in front of her, adds a small amount to the cocoa. Tells her lover to keep stirring, then stops him for a moment so she can taste it. Cocoa’s ready.
Her lover mugs the cocoa for them, then drops marshmallows into both cups. She grabs eating utensils, napkins, and their breakfast plates. Hastily puts it on the dining room table in seats beside each other rather than their typical spots across from each other.
He pulls her chair out for her, seats himself only after she’s settled. Both dig into their food, a bit wary of speaking and bringing more sad memories into being.
She stares pensively into her cocoa, mentions something about how medicine is better now than it was, how pregnancies are easier when watched by trained medics. Safer to try for a baby now than it used to be. He looks up at her; his eggs fall off his fork. His eyes are warm and happy. Puts his fork down, grabs her hand, rubbing the top of her palm with his thumb. Tells her how happy the decision to try for a child makes him.
Everything but him is forgotten; the clanging of her fork hitting her plate takes place on another plane. She gets out of her seat and settles into his lap. She snuggles in, his arms and hands run up and down her back. She takes his face in her hands, tells him of her love. Pulls his face down and kisses him deeply.
He picks her up, brings her to the couch. Snuggles her into him before covering them with a blanket. A child will come soon, for now they are happy to just be together.
