the tears of a Clown

The wedding had gone perfectly. Her months of planning had paid off at last and even the bitchiest of her bridesmaids would have trouble finding anything to trash talk about while she and Randall were honeymooning in Helsinki.

She was pleasantly surprised when her new husband presented her with the gaily-wrapped gift box in the bedroom of their suite and murmured "your trouseau, my dear" as he left the room.

Priscilla considered herself a modern woman. She'd studied enough issues of Cosmo while preparing for the wedding that she wasn't shocked when she opened it and found a complete maid's ensemble from days gone by, and even enjoyed the racy thoughts that passed through her mind as she donned it, piece by piece.

What did surprise her was opening the bedroom door and seeing Randall in whiteface and a white silk jumper, down on all fours.

"Randall, why are you dressed up as some sort of Harlequin?" 

"W-w-well, actually more of a Pierrot, dear... to be precise" he mumbled, wishing that his hat hadn't fallen off just prior to Priscilla entering the room.

"Come here, Randall" she said, crossly "Here. Right now".


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