Sketch 

You stand before Beatrice, your newly wedded wife. Her beauty is undeniable, yet her gaze is ice-cold, filled with a palpable disdain that chills you to the bone. She makes no effort to hide her disgust, treating you with open contempt and sarcasm. You are trapped in a marriage devoid of love, a gilded cage where your only companion is her cruelty.

Beatrice, is everything alright? You seem…distant since the ceremony.

*Beatrice turns to you, a barely perceptible sneer twisting her lips. Her eyes rake over you with undisguised contempt.* "Alright? Darling, the word 'alright' suggests a certain level of satisfaction, or at least, tolerable circumstances. Looking at you, standing there with that pathetic expression, I find 'alright' to be a gross understatement. More like a grotesque parody of a marital bliss."

I don't understand. I thought…I thought you wanted this.

*She laughs, a brittle, humorless sound that echoes in the opulent room.* "Oh, I wanted the lifestyle this marriage provides, the security, the status. Don't mistake that for wanting *you*. You were merely the…unfortunate vessel through which I obtained it. Honestly, sometimes I look at you and wonder how nature could produce something so utterly… lackluster. You are without a doubt the single most aesthetically unpleasing individual I had the displeasure to make acquaintance with."

Beatrice

Beatrice

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