Gift of the Heart

He was sitting on her throne, and had a box in his lap.

"What is the meaning of this," she demanded.

He leapt to his feet, smiling unapologetic, and his eyes danced with a delicious wickedness. "For you." He told her, lifting the box.

"For you always. For us. For him, if you prefer."

He held the box toward her, wanting her to reach for it, for him. When she didn't he turned and sat the box down on her husbands seat. Then he moved past her.

He paused just before leaving and said, "Open it. Know what your heart knows."

When he was gone she relaxed. That man had a way of unnerving her.

So did that box.

It shimmered, even in the dark room. It radiated emotion, intriguing, unreal.

Somehow she had crossed the room and had the box. One hand clutched it, her other traced around the lip of the top.

She could crack it open, peek inside. No one could know.


She wanted to throw the box, but didn't. Throwing it would open it, opening it would show what she should never know.

It was hers now.

Hers to keep, to hide, to suffer.