hans has never been much of a reader. not by choice , anyway. or at least , that’s been his initial thought once upon a time ago before he takes the time to reconsider and retrace history. hans thinks, in a different world perhaps , he will never be a reader. he’ll be an active boy , he thinks — he was very hyper when he was younger , you know — and if his brothers had been kinder , they would have done various of activities together. his mother would worry constantly, but never not supportive of her sons and his father would be strict but truly , he’ll be caring deep down. hans would imagine lars being such an anomaly in a family that’re so active or maybe malcolm would join him as hans knows he’s quite artistic.
caleb loves sailing ; peter is expert in swords and martial arts ; the twins would be all over pranking ; thorval would horse ride every day of his life and the list would go on and on. yes , that would be quite a thrilling alternate life , hans would imagine . except it’s not real. how many times have hans imagined his father to be anything but the man he is ? too many . and yet every day hans is woken up to this cruel realisation that he has a father that’s worse than most people’s worst nightmare. and because of that , hans has this poor life where he is surrounded by riches and servants who would do anything he says as soon as he’s said it yet — total emptiness. he would feel vacant , hollow — incomplete.
and if it weren’t for lars … lars , the only single thing he would’ve been able to stand for more than four hours … who had introduced him to books and yes — that’s what he was trying to tell about. that his love for books. if it weren’t for lars and this horrid life , maybe in another he wouldn’t have properly touched one until he’s old and grey. a hand on his cheek startles him from his raging thought and hans nearly flinches. rarely had mother touches him in such an appreciative manner — but goodness , how warm. hans could almost feel an ache , like the softest of whimpers , trembling within his chest and he breathes out , swallows , before closing his eyes to savour the touch before it goes away.
was that how it felt to have a mother ? he wonders , watching the queen takes her place. nodding at his mother’s approval , hans simply walks to the shelves and searches for the title of one of his favourite tales. victor hugo. he wonders if mother knows this is his favourite. he’s read hugo’s literature more often than dickens or any other authors. would it be childish for hans to hope that his mother would at least know this little detail ? yes ? of course it would. he thought so. smiling politely at his mother , hans merely adjusts the candle , keeping his head ducked for , after all , he is speaking to a queen. ❛ a real story this time , i’m afraid . you … wouldn’t mind , would you , mother ? ❜
gesturing to the chair across from her , hans makes a gesture , ❛ may i ? ❜ and of course — permission. he always has to ask that.
dededos
stormborns
kaledo-art
origamiaround
dailybridgerton
2087
