the king and a fairy

My love for uncertainty was perhaps because I was birthed of middles.
And the tragedy of it, is that I never had an unhappy childhood.
I bathed in the sorrow of it, and that was my inevitable joy.

My story starts with a girl. She wasn't commercially beautiful. She wasn't stupid and gullible. His mother would never approve of her. In an age and time where marriage was a sort of transaction, this girl had woven her own universe. Hers was a sick one.
She was a flower I think, in a garden where weeds crept into the roots, snaking around growth. There was less space. Or , she was not allowed to take up space. Either way, the air stole away most of the oxygen.

In the same city lay a kingdom with boundaries as far as the eye could see. The new monarch with a life-starved mother overlooking the shoulder - rarely available. As a child, he grew among the grass. But he knew his place, and that gave him a power that nobody could ever take. His love for authority and perfection was his Achilles heel. He deserved everything, he felt. 

The irony is that the only thing he deserved was love. He never got it.

They were insecure about very different things. They hid more. The girl wanted to make the home she never had. The boy wanted a home he felt safe in. I think the hunger for connection brought them together. 
Writing this, reminds me of myself. I had a friendship like this. I am truly my parents' child.

Love stands bare in front of his enemies. Love, survived. But love bled, and cursed its rotten immortality.

I think she knew her daughter would inherit the worst of both. But she realized that along with all the horrid parts, the girl held more love than both of them.