As you wish

With that she hurried to her room.

She stayed there many days. At first her parents tried to lure her, but she would not have it. They took to leaving food outside her room, and she took bits and shreds, enough to stay alive. There was never noise inside, no wailing, no bitter sounds.

And when she at last came out, her eyes were dry. Her parents stared up from their silent breakfast at her. They both started to rise but she put a hand out, stopped them. "I can care for myself, please," and she set about getting some food. They watched her closely.

In point of fact, she had never looked as well. She had entered her room as just an impossibly lovely girl. The woman who emerged was a trifle thinner, a great deal wiser, an ocean sadder. This one understood the nature of pain, and beneath the glory of her features, there was character, and a sure knowledge of suffering.

She was eighteen. She was the most beautiful woman in a hundred years. She didn't seem to care.

"You're all right?" Her mother asked.

Buttercuped sipped her cocoa. "Fine," she said.

"You're sure?" her father wondered.

"Yes," Buttercup replied. There was a very long pause. "But I must never love again."


She never did.

~The Princess Bride by William Goldman

2/8/11