They said that he never remained married for long and his wives vanished mysteriously. When his eyes fell on me, I was repulsed. I begged father not to agree to our betrothal. But his wealth, our poverty, and my family’s greed won over.
On the way to his castle, he warned never to open that one door in the cellar. I agreed and we lived quite happily. But curiosity got the better of me.
I stepped in and started laughing.
So, he was a cross-dresser! I’m not like the other women in his life and run away. But he needs a new nickname.
Written in response to the picture prompt provided by Roger Bultot for the weekly Friday Fictioneers hosted by our gracious host, Rochelle, who celebrates her 7th anniversary of being a Fictioneer. Here’s to many more years to come, Rochelle.