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Maidenbreaker
Martin obsesses over the fantastical worlds depicted in his books and marvels at the strength of the cursed protagonists. In those worlds, the protagonists face their fears head on, crush the obstacles in their path, and grow into peerless examples of humanity's greatest traits, and they don't let anything get in their way. Things aren't quite so bright in the world outside of the pages. The minor pains of reality might not rise to the magnitude of draconian-curses, or a kingdom filled with cruel, giggling noblewomen, or celestial level threats that might give even a king of dragons a moment or two of pause.
But regardless of the scale, he hasn't managed to overcome any of them either. The four walls of the bedroom, and his bookshelves of meticulously sorted books are a bastion of safety, a place where he doesn't have to keep up the cool mask of indifference that shields him from the enemy's dreadful gaze. Wherever he was forced outside, he found himself longing for the small, cozy room with its well-thumbed, curse-filled books.
He found himself longing for the brilliant, familiar characters and the herculean labours they accomplished in search of a good ending. It was his favourite place in the entire world, and so why, exactly, did it leave him feeling so terribly lonely?Chelsea dreams of beautiful, bumbling, and conniving maidens. She dreams of cursed princesses that go out on marvelous, romantic quests with reluctant, handsome and totally submissive suitors.
She dreams of magic, and love, and hot, sweaty sex with brooding, half-dragon princes who pretend they aren't in the mood to fuck the maiden, but it's obvious that they actually really like it a lot. Chelsea dreams her fantasy of dreams, and wonders if they'll always be just that, and nothing more. The tragically beautiful characters, the moments of quiet wonder, and the raunchy, sleep-invading sex just faded away once the cover of the book was sealed shut.
There was nobody to share in it, not her friends, or even her auntie, and it wasn't as if she hadn't tried. The book club didn't like goblin princesses with tickle-fetishes, and her aunt doesn't have any interest in dragon princes with huge dragon-cocks. Everybody thought her books were weird, gross things, and that she was weird and gross for reading them. But they weren't like that at all, not to her, and so Chelsea dreams of sharing her favourite books with someone who really understands them-because maybe then she would find someone who really understands her, too.
But regardless of the scale, he hasn't managed to overcome any of them either. The four walls of the bedroom, and his bookshelves of meticulously sorted books are a bastion of safety, a place where he doesn't have to keep up the cool mask of indifference that shields him from the enemy's dreadful gaze. Wherever he was forced outside, he found himself longing for the small, cozy room with its well-thumbed, curse-filled books.
He found himself longing for the brilliant, familiar characters and the herculean labours they accomplished in search of a good ending. It was his favourite place in the entire world, and so why, exactly, did it leave him feeling so terribly lonely?Chelsea dreams of beautiful, bumbling, and conniving maidens. She dreams of cursed princesses that go out on marvelous, romantic quests with reluctant, handsome and totally submissive suitors.
She dreams of magic, and love, and hot, sweaty sex with brooding, half-dragon princes who pretend they aren't in the mood to fuck the maiden, but it's obvious that they actually really like it a lot. Chelsea dreams her fantasy of dreams, and wonders if they'll always be just that, and nothing more. The tragically beautiful characters, the moments of quiet wonder, and the raunchy, sleep-invading sex just faded away once the cover of the book was sealed shut.
There was nobody to share in it, not her friends, or even her auntie, and it wasn't as if she hadn't tried. The book club didn't like goblin princesses with tickle-fetishes, and her aunt doesn't have any interest in dragon princes with huge dragon-cocks. Everybody thought her books were weird, gross things, and that she was weird and gross for reading them. But they weren't like that at all, not to her, and so Chelsea dreams of sharing her favourite books with someone who really understands them-because maybe then she would find someone who really understands her, too.
