She didn’t need to be quite so blunt.
Not that she ever did mince words. Or hold back actions.
It was what he loved about her. It was also what became exhausting. Fending off arguments. Splitting hairs.
He wasn’t averse to a good conversation, but was it really necessary to have confrontations about the best-by-date of parsley or whether T-shirts needed to be folded a certain way or whether such-and-such celebrity looked better before their latest procedure or if they ought to order red or yellow apples?
“You’re apathetic to the world!” she’d accused. “If you don’t care about small things, how would you care about the bigger issues?”
His sigh only infuriated her.
Perhaps it’s better that she left. But did she really have to hang her purple shoe, the one he’d gotten her, outside his window?
She used to be his princess. Now he was a stepsister.
For Crispina’s Crimson’s Creative Challenge
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