CHAPTER SIX
1362 Words
We sat together on a bench, his pet raven perched on his lap. He began to tell his story, and I listened intently.
"I was very young when my parents left me. I didn't know what to do. I was so small and inexperienced. But someone helped me, gave me this little home, then disappeared. Over time, I learned to live alone, gathering fruit and hunting for food. One day, I found a raven's nest under a tree. I took the bird and cared for it. Eventually, I tried to set it free, but it returned to the little house I'd built for it a few days later. I was so surprised! I named him Brody. I'm grateful for Brody; he keeps me company and prevents me from feeling lonely."
"So, you found him as a chick?" I asked softly.
" Yes. He was so small, barely bigger than my thumb. I built him a tiny nest, lined with soft moss. I tried to release him once, but he came back. He seems to prefer my company to the forest," he replied
BRODY croaks softly.
It's... remarkable. Your story is remarkable. The way you survived... alone.
"What happened to your parents? " I asked. He was silent for a moment.
" My parents... they're gone. A fever took them both. I was only seven," he replied in a lower tone.
"I'm so sorry," I apologized.
I didn't know what to say. His life story filled me with sadness.
"Why are you apologizing?" he asked, chuckling softly.
"Oh... nothing," I replied, looking up.
I'm sorry if I brought back painful memories
"It's alright. It's been many years. Brody's kept me company. He's a good listener," he laughed, letting Brody fly.
I watched his gaze upward, following Brody's flight.
He's so handsome. His cheekbones, his sharp nose, his adam's apple, his lips, his eyes.
A moment later, he turned and caught me staring. I quickly looked away.
Damn it! What's happening to me?!
"Don't stare at me, or you'll fall completely in love," he said.
Such nerve!
"What are you talking about?!" I retorted.
He chuckled softly.
"Get up and cook the duck I caught," he said.
"Excuse me?" I snapped.
Am I a maid?!
"And excuse me, didn't we agree you'd serve me for saving your life from countless dangers?" he countered.
Our eyes met across the crowded room, a silent battle of wills waged not with words, but with the unspoken currents of attraction. His gaze, intense and unwavering, held mine captive, a magnetic pull I couldn't resist. A slow smile played on his lips, a subtle shift that transformed his features, revealing a depth of character I hadn't noticed before. It was in the crinkle of his eyes, the way the light caught the faintest hint of laughter, that I truly saw him, not just the man across the room, but a soul brimming with untold stories and hidden passions.
And then, I saw it, the brightness in his eyes, a captivating allure that mirrored the tempest brewing within my own heart. It wasn't merely a sparkle, it was a constellation of emotions, a universe of unspoken desires reflected in the depths of his gaze. In that single, shared moment, the world fell away, leaving only the intoxicating pull of two souls drawn together by an invisible thread of destiny, a silent promise whispered between two hearts that had finally found their way home.
Tsk! Diana, how dare you! Don't fantasize! Don't imagine! It's not me! This is not me!
I looked away and stood up. "Okay, fine!" I said, heading into the house.
I gasped when I saw the unplucked, uncleaned duck in the kitchen.
So I'm supposed to butcher and pluck it?!
"It's just a duck!" he said.
"I thought it was already cleaned and cut up?!"
"You can probably handle it!" he said.
I rolled my eyes.
"You don't know I've never even beheaded an animal before! In fact, I'm a princ—" I stopped myself, almost revealing too much.
"Tsk! Okay, fine! Just sit there, and I'll call you when I'm done butchering and cutting it up," he said, and I obeyed.
For a moment, I stood up and went to him. My eyes widened as I watched Franksen expertly and quickly handle the chicken. The way his arms moved as he killed and cleaned the bird was like a captivating dance. I couldn't help but be amazed, not only by Franksen's skill, but also by his captivating appearance. The sweat dripping from his forehead seemed to enhance his charm. I felt a strange mix of admiration and desire.
He stood up and took off his shirt. It felt like electricity coursed through my body. My eyes stayed fixed on his back, on the way his muscles moved. I couldn't explain what I was feeling – a mix of shame, awe, and intense fascination. It was as if my heart suddenly started racing and my knees went weak. I gripped my chest tightly, as if trying to stop its rapid beating.
"Oh? You're here?" he asked suddenly, and I was suddenly back in reality, standing and facing him. I quickly averted my gaze and thought of an excuse.
"Are you done cleaning the duck? Maybe I can cook it now?" I asked quickly, my eyes darting around nervously.
"Oh yeah, just wash it. You take care of it," he said and started to walk away.
But he stopped when he was level with me and turned to look at me, but I kept my eyes forward and didn't let myself look at him. I felt his gentle smile.
I could feel my heart beating faster and faster.
Damn! Just leave!
After a moment, he continued walking. I immediately calmed down and my knees went weak.
What's happening?! Maybe another soul has entered my body?!
I began to chop and prepare the vegetables that would accompany my dish, the rhythmic thunk-thunk-thunk of the knife a counterpoint to the quiet anticipation building within me.
Each carefully selected ingredient – the vibrant green of the scallions, the deep crimson of the bell peppers, the earthy brown of the mushrooms – held the promise of a culinary masterpiece, a symphony of flavors waiting to be unleashed. My movements were deliberate, precise, a dance of culinary artistry honed over years of practice and passion.
Then, I turned my attention to the star of the show, the unfortunate duck, its fate sealed but its potential yet to be realized. With gentle care, I seasoned the bird, the fragrant spices awakening its inherent richness, promising a depth of flavor that would tantalize the palate.
The sizzle of the duck in the pan, the intoxicating aroma filling the kitchen, signaled the beginning of a transformative process, a culinary alchemy that would elevate the humble ingredients into something extraordinary. Moments stretched into an eternity as I patiently tended to the duck, its skin crisping to a golden perfection, its meat tenderizing to succulent perfection.
Finally, the moment of truth arrived. The duck was cooked, its aroma a siren's call, beckoning me to the next stage of my culinary journey. With a flourish, I arranged the perfectly roasted duck on a platter, its glistening skin a testament to my skill, its aroma a promise of the exquisite flavors to come.
The colorful medley of vegetables, artfully arranged around the duck, completed the presentation, a visual feast as captivating as the culinary experience it promised.
Finally, I served this creation, a testament to patience, skill, and passion, upon the table, ready to be shared and savored.
Fransken's voice cut through the air, "Mmm, the aroma of my wife's cooking is incredible! It must be delicious!"
How dare you! wife?
The sheer audacity of the word sent a shiver down my spine. If he only knew the truth, if he only knew who he was addressing, he'd be on his knees before me, begging for forgiveness.
I rolled my eyes, a silent expression of my contempt.
He sat, and I also sat in front of him, a comfortable silence settling between us as we began to eat together.
- Writer
