A refusal for love

"You must forgive me. Your...proposal had taken me almost entirely by surprise. But you had hinted at the favor I held with you, and your affection never strayed from me. You mustn't be upset with me, I understand love, you know. Your infatuation with me is only in what you think of me. You don't know me, dear. I'm not a nice person. In fact, I'm probably not a very loyal person. Ask anyone if you will. See, your tears are already starting to dry with the thought of that. If you do really love me, you'd interject, and point out my flaws and how you can accept me for me. But you haven't, so you don't, and your heart will heal against me. Don't fret little love, you'll find happiness soon."

The little gossamer faerie flitted off away from the minxet, who did not sigh with sorrow for the damage he'd done. Lucinda, the younger Williams twin, and Olivia, the mortal in the City, stepped out of the alley to stand beside him. Lucinda pulled out a cigarette wrapped in purple paper and lit it without a match. In one long drag, she sighed, electric green smoke framing her unreadable face.

"Now, why did you go do a thing like that?" She asked Carl, the half cat, half heartbreaker in the street. "She almost loved you and those are hard to come by in the City."

"She wasn't good enough for me. A twitty little pure bred gossie? With me? I deserve something exotic for it's what I am. A rival, someone to admire and be admired by. Equal in my grace and beauty."

Lucinda nodded, but Olivia stood aghast. "That's not love at all!"

Carl turned his fierce gaze on her. "But isn't it, child? There are different degrees of love and there are different ways of giving and receiving love. Mine is obsession, not mindless infatuation. Can you blame me for wanting someone I can cherish as they are perfect in my eyes or should I snatch up the first person who wanders by professing love? Don't speak to me of truth in romance when you have yet to find it yourself."

Olivia felt very small all of a sudden as if she were just barely big enough to not slip into the drain beneath the curb. Lucinda flicked her cigarette, spilling hot pink ash all over the wet pavement. "You're both wrong. But at least one of you knows you're wrong and can live with it."

-the carnival