❝That’s what love is like it’s like coming home.❞
orange is the new black inspired sentence meme.
A shaky breath leaves her at the words, spoken so softly that it may be mistaken for the wind. She knows what they mean, what he means. But she does not wish to dwell upon how they strike a chord within her, one that she has always believed would remain dull with disuse, that would never be plucked so sweetly again.
Love is something she expected never to harbour again, for it had left alongside Arthur’s passing. Something deep within her had been broken with no hope for it to be mended. Becoming Queen Regent, Gwen had known that she would die a widow— even if the custom was to marry another, as she had no child to sit upon the throne after her.
She felt it was justified she be so selfish as to never look upon another man. The Queen knew that she could never love another. No man was worthy of her affections, for they were not as great as the deceased Arthur Pendragon.
——-But Willas Tyrell is proving to be an exception. Another tale entirely.
It fills her with deep shame. She can’t help wonder: what does Arthur think, wherever he may be now? Is he happy that there is a possibility for her to love again? Or is he as betrayedas he had looked when he had found her in the arms of Lancelot?
Simply the thought of this makes her tremble deep in the marr- ow of her bones. Her knees buckle underneath her, however she remains poised— her hands clasped daintily together and her back straight as a tightly-wound arrow. She is Queen of Camelot and it is unbecoming of her to show even an ounce of weakness.
Slowly, quietly, she turns away from Willas. Not so much so that he will notice, or so she hopes, but enough that he cannot see the glistening of her eyes or the bitter twitch of her lips as she says,
“Indeed it is, my Lord. Though I am afraid my home has long since been in shambles.”
