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[personal profile] bestmistakeyet
Imagine, if you will, a small bakery. Clean. Bright. Shades of blue, grey, pearlescent blue-grey, with touches of creamy yellow. It's a very feminine place, but very french-ly so. There's cakes, my goodness there's cakes. And cookies and pastries and brownies. Cookie monster cupcakes holding fat chocolate chip cookies in his yawning mouth. Breads in the shape of braids and leaves and heavy bundles. There's childishly sticky vanilla scented dreams, and cinnamon powdered sugar dreams. Yes and flour and hard won happiness.

And in this bakery stands a woman. This Julia doesn't like to be around the customers, but she can't help herself. She likes to watch the look on children's faces when their mamas finally says yes to a sugar bun in the shape of a bunny. Watch young lovers choose their engagement cakes and wedding cakes and stag- and hen party foods. There's just something so magical about being in the middle of this drama that wrapping yourself in the safety and anonymity of the kitchen just cannot fulfill in you.

This Julia has been settled. She's happy. Of course she is. Fulfilled, even. She married ten years ago this May to someone she liked quite well, figuring she'd love him in time.

And she does. Of course she does. They're well suited, especially on paper. They even managed to have children. Two of them, a boy and a girl. Neither of which take after her in her fae-ness.

This Julia doesn't dream much anymore.
Much like many suburban housewives with fulfilling jobs and a husband and children, she likes to lose herself in romances. Only certain ones, though. Paranormal romances, set in far away locales. In the future, in the past, it doesn't matter. There's got to be knights, though. Someone who knows what chivalry is, and have a deep, abiding, passionate romantic love for their women. Couples who could spend hours just holding hands and loving each other more than life itself.

Coming to the end of those stories depresses her on some level, one she ignores.
It always makes her sad to know they're just stories.
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Julia Stuart

March 2012

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