I Have a Crush on an Immortal Elf King by Hana S. Elysia

I always wanted to be a damsel—does that make me a bad feminist?

sweep me off my feet while my dress billows beneath me

emerald green, velvet ruffles, dragging low against the moss

I pretend to be unconscious, as pretty as I can

stifling my breaths so that I may appear delicate, not panting

with every step you take, your boots crunch over fallen leaves

hold me close to your chest as my palms press into your brocade

Oh, and you must be muscular

oh, and you must be an elf

I begin an average human female, but become immortal, like you

skin glowing, hair gossamer, limbs long and elegant

chase me through the forest before we bathe in pools of starlight

then ask me to be your queen, though I question if that’s wise

for I’m only sixteen, maybe seventeen, while you’ve lived for centuries

yet among all the elven beauties, you chose me, a simple human

why did you choose me?

Why do flowers bloom when you walk, only to wither when I pass?

At my coronation, lift my hand to your lips and softly kiss each knuckle

my god, that jawline

embroidered vines swirl down our garments, pastel and pressed

a crown is placed slightly askew upon my head

I rule this kingdom by your side now, your packed, watchful court

I look in a grand mirror to see you, posture perfect

then glance at myself to see only the crown

Askew

Now waltz with me through fall, winter, and spring

summer we reserve for picnics and rest

avoid the berries that stain your fingers blue

or perhaps I’ll drop them into my tea, see what happens

I’m immortal now, they can’t hurt me

I proceed to heave up blue, violently

but I didn’t put any berries in my cup—was it you?

Ah, I see, you thought it’d be funny

I suppose this is where our story sours

Because I’m not laughing

Now do I need to transform into a strong woman who defies you?

or may I remain how I am, satisfied with being spoiled

in this realm full of whimsy, spells, and lace

weaved tight to form a veil of magic over my eyes

that would turn to all but sand in the world I come from

and slip through my fingers like a desert collapsing

so I’m content to be your queen, however naïve, just let me stay

I wonder if my parents miss me

I wish you would’ve let me say goodbye—

When I finally decide to die, when I cut my immortality string

lay me into a glass coffin framed by twigs and beetle wings

kiss me one last time and pull away to find your lips stained blue

then stumble back and realize

unable to tell the mourners around you

that it wasn’t just my string I cut

now you heave up blue, violently

Our gravestones will stand together

forever and both askew.