Wish.

Image

 

Wish.

            “Tell me where is fancy bred, in the heart or in the head?” resounded through his thoughts as he looked at the service on offer. The webpage was even Shakespearean as it promised, “that which is found in leaden boxes.”

            It promised to give him the woman of his dreams, the one that had dwelled in his mind for years. He had only had one conversation with her at the bus station, and then had never seen her again. Her name was Laura, though, and she had a voice that could calm a riot with a whisper.

            He’d spent an untold amount of time trying to find her afterwards. Missed encounters ad after missed encounters ad, and then online dating and everything else. He’d even hired a private eye, who refused the case because of insufficient evidence. Being a man of means, though, ensured that he didn’t have to give in. And that’s where merchantsdaughter.com came in, a website that, with a nominal fee, would find the person you desired more than any other.

            Weeks, and an embarrassing amount of money, later and he was still just as alone as he was at the beginning. He’d do anything to even know her last name, let alone the touch of her skin on his. Pacing about his room, thinking of the little rhyme from Merchant, it was nearly impossible to even drive her from his mind as he had done so many times in the past.

            So when the knock resounded at his front door, his heart nearly exploded. Somehow he knew that it was Laura. But what brought her here? What had been done? And she was waiting on the other side, but all he could do was stand and stare at the knob.

             It is engender’d in the eyes,/ with gazing fed; and Fancy dies/ In the cradle where it lies.

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