Mary Christof, Queen of Hearts

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Bundt Cakes/Love of God

“Not yet. I’m not dying yet. I haven’t even reached middle age. I could have had an interest in baking, but no...a freaking empire built out of bundt cakes! Bundt cakes and--well, sweets! You could have what you want, people could get what they want by virtue of getting plump--and I could at least feel like I’m doing something for others. People can’t accuse a bakery of proselytizing, can they? I mean, they’ve got to be crazier than me if that’s the case. Plus, who would know? Uh, nobody!”

“I would, you know. The velvet cake wouldn’t have feeling in it, it wouldn’t have that rebellious oomph that makes it different from all the others in the shop...bland velvet cake, bleeeeh...I think writing is much more your style, darling.”

“You can’t see the future, you’re the Mother of God, not God.”

“No, but I can help you with it. You’re a cute little fussbudget, you know, and the way you type and make words...”

“For the love of God, yes. For the love of you! I’d do anything, even step in front of barbs for you, my love...if you wish me. I suffer, my love. I suffer, and I wish to become closer. To renew my soul in His eyes and yours through art...for I am tainted, though I fear I have given up in my quest. Please do not give up on me, for I am still learning and growing like a seed in cement trying its hardest to sprout from the ground. I am not worthy, but in time, I will conform to the Son’s image of myself.”

“I love you, darling.”

“I love you too, Mama.”

Her hand clenched her body’s shirt and wrenched it off of it; a gust of strangely ad rem, strong wind assisting her with its pants and underwear, blowing all around the small cot. “Sweet Winney the Second--um, I get the princess motif is a big thing, but--”

Slow sizing of its waistline, her hands moving up and down the naked chocolate back before she began choosing a nightgown: a nice white dress, with what I could assume to be red symbols patterning all over it. “--is this really...uh...”

Her smile sold it. “Necesse? Absit! Ut enim putabant quia tota vis animi voluptatis regno meo vasculo volui dabo tibi munera retribuit. Aliquid plus quam solebat, praeter - non pernoctabit apud eos, quod pestilentem vendo.”

“...Bene gratias, Maria? Album ...humilitas humilium, non in lumine, si esset aliquid damma , et ego ad te interroga , si modo cepit sapor a nares lustrum.”

The smile faded a little bit, giving way to motherly sternness, faced with the first bit of (but barely the last) genuine sarcasm piece I would bestow upon the Queen Mother, her throat cleared and her voice strong and commanding upon speaking.

Ego sum ​​mater tua, tu scis. Obsecro vestrum lingua carus. Sunt electi estis ad commoriendum et vestes quas ascendunt, gratias tibi valde.

“Tu respice in ipso caperet eos vestimenta sua, regina et mater mea. Ipsi vero consideraverunt, ipsum regium.”

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