I can’t believe I was slyly manipulated by one of the Crown Princesses of Sakhalin, a tense smile on my face as I nervously gaze at the number of female’s standing around me.
I acted weak by allowing a few fake tears to cloud my judgement, raised to be a gentleman due to my mother’s strict training I couldn’t help myself when all of a sudden, the Princess expressed her sorrows over her inability to pay her respects to her deceased parents or comfort her people due to the selection.
Now, with a bat in hand, I try my best to explain and demonstrate the sports of cricket to a garden full of one too many painted faces and nauseating perfume. Standing firm, I try my best to rein in the other side of me. The one where my temper goes off like a firework when I’m quite confined and need an esca
