Theodora's Husband

It was the day.

His hands almost shivered as he tightened the frill around his neck. He was nervous, although he hadn't any reason to be. Confident of being the one with the power made him stretch out his whole body-length, not much to stretch at a height of 5' 6.0", but just as well. With her by his side, who would look at his length, or shortage of it?

He smirked as he watched himself in the mirror, disgustingly pleased with himself. Alas... Just this other morning she had just been a face in the crowd, a drop of salty water in the sea. But even though she wouldn't stand out to Him, didn't mean that she was out of value. No, her father was a great landlord in the southern of London and as the middle-child she had always been kept from what all middle-children lacks the most; attention. She was just the gray mouse in the back row, with her delicate sisters taking up all the front.

At first it seemed like a dead case. All the other daughters of the Averay family already got both husbands and, approximately, lovers on the side that probably were more handsome and most likely Taller than himself. He therefore claimed the one that were left; Theodora.

“Well, she isn't a beauty”, he had thought to himself when he had looked over the comfort-prize that he had got. “But at least she will get a handful of the will as the father dies. And that will probably be just enough to buy us a mansion and a couple of servants.”

He smiled to himself again and combed his hair with water to make it more shiny and to make it stay in place. It was laughable because just this other morning it was her older sister; the busty, redheaded Catherine, who had thrown in her towel when she just was about to give birth to her first-born. He couldn't believe his luck when the news came. Not only had the mother, Catherine, passed away, but Also the new-born child! That would mean that his own, sweet, boring and forgotten soon-to-be-wife would be the true heir of the father's money. And with him as her husband... It would all be His!

When Theodora had told him, gasping for air and crying as hard as a woman could, he had to use all of his concentration not to smile victoriously. Instead he had done what any husband would do to his upset wife. He'd stroked her hair and whispered soft words in her ear, all along not trying to show the wicked grin that had taken a hold of his face.

With a skeptic eye he met his own reflection and gently pressed a vicious stray of hair into place. The wide chin gave him a touch of a more robust manliness, something that was needed in his lack of muscles. He had a young face for facing the later 30's and even though his eyes were a little too far apart from each other, they possessed a both tantalizing and penetrating look that had helped him in both loosing virginity as gaining a job. They seemed as black as the Devils soul, and only in the right light you could see the stroke of light hazel. The hair were just as dark and a bit wavy and tide together with a black velvet ribbon.

Yes... He had done well. His father would be proud of what he had done with what he had been working with. His length was something that he never could do anything about. He could still remember, with horror, as how the nails in his fathers leg-lengthening-machine had stung his flesh. He still had scars from the fathers everlasting, cruel imagination. It hadn't worked a bit. Not like the torture-machine that would correct his teeth. No, that had worked like a charm, as his teeth booth were straight and pearly white. He stroke the tip of his tongue along the upper-jaw, like he could taste them. A small cicatrice on the lower lip was the price in blood that he had been forced to pay for them, and it would seem that it was a good deal. Even though it was hard to convince a small child of the same thought. Perhaps he was lucky then that his father were such a convincing man.

“And a sadistic bastard from hell.” He smiled again, before he dusted of his clothing of invisible dust and took a step away from the mirror. He looked great.

“Sir!”

He glanced over his shoulder, to the younger man who were standing in the doorway to his house.

“The carriage his here, sir. Should I-..?”

He raised a hand to make the servant shut up, which worked like a charm.

“I'll be right out, Evans.”

The servant nodded his head, bowed down and stepped out on the street again.

“There, there, old boy...” He whispered to himself as he drew a deeper breath to calm his nerves. “It wont get any better than this. She adores you.” Yes, that was an understatement. She had been his the second he'd laid his eyes on her. Not because she'd fallen straightly into love, no... He didn't believe in that sort of engagement. She had fallen for him because she had been scared. Scared of being alone, being a disappointment, scared of her father, of getting gray and crusty without love, and scared of... Well, Him.

The first time with her had been the hardest and, at the same time, the most enjoyable. Her heart would always speed up, like a terrified mouse in the clutches of a cat, every time he'd walk into the same room as her. Her dry mouth, her shaking hands and shallow breaths... It had been ravishing. But before he had known it... She started smiling every time he got into her sight. And soon he understood that she wasn't shaking with fear, but with desire.

He sighed. Well. As long as she were the heir, she would be his way into the higher class and there they could go their own ways. It wasn't unusual for the nobles to have paramours, she should know that.

“Sir!”

He looked over his shoulder again and this time he continued the motion to face the front door. He then got his hat, and his coat, and opened the door. The carriage stood there, just as Evans had told him. Dusts of white breath came out of the black stallions muffle and same out of his own nose. Even though the snow were everywhere, the sun still heated up the crispy winter-day.

Yes. This was the day.

The same vicious smile took a hold of his face and he slammed the door after him. So hard, in fact, that a single icicle from the edge of the roof shivered and a single drop of melted ice fell down onto his perfectly combed hair.

He didn't have the time to put on his hat. He didn't even have time to put on his coat.

Instead the icicle let a single tone escape it's base when it broke and fell with excellent precision to, and through, his head.