Jane Jago’s Drabbles – Four Hundred and Seven

She trod up the aisle, to where the chosen husband awaited her.

He was blocky and brilliantined, with a whitish, bristling moustache, above pursed pink lips.

As she promised to obey, he smiled coldly, although walking down the aisle he patted her hand.

“As long as you obey orders,” he whispered, “you have nothing to fear.”

The wedding breakfast was interminable, but night still came too soon. The groom entered the bedchamber.

“Obedience,” he snapped, shutting the door behind him with a click.

Morning found a figure huddled in the corner of the bedroom. 

He never challenged his wife again….

©jane jago

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