Anonymous Dreams, The Lover.

She’s a foul, evil, wicked woman.

Her husband lies by her side. He’s snoring a bit, huffs and sighs that punctuate the rhythm of his breath in counterpoint to hers. It happens sometimes, when he doesn’t drink himself into a stupor – something that has become more and more frequent these days, as the years wear on and she births no children, and the weight of things he’s never wanted becomes heavier upon his shoulders – but tonight he’s practiced some long-lost restraint, there was a gleam of hopefulness such as she’s surprised to realize she’d sorely missed in his blue, blue eyes.

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