gennacor
He told tales. She thought they were stories of his previous life, but they were tales. When she heard the word, she immediately thought of Fairy Tales of her youth. Except no one ever lives happily ever after.
As I sit here and think about what to write - not just for this, but for anything these days - I think about how writers have to allow themselves to be bad writers. Perfect example.
She stared at the wall. The place where their wedding photo had been. She could see the fading paint outlining the 8x10 frame. She thought he meant it when he said "till death do us part". And he did.