To those gloating outside her cell, it looked like she had accepted her cruel fate, eyes demurely downcast and all.
They did not know about those lumpy things on the tray, and that very special liquid in the jug.
Lancelot had given them to cook, and cook loved her mistress, now matter how wicked her wicked accusers wanted her to appear.
And Lancelot loved her.
There would be a blast some time during the night, and then they were going to have a blast to last the rest of their lives – Lance and Guinea, united for ever.
– Niebla ( © 2010 )
Written for Stony River: A Writing Life: Microfiction Monday.