One afternoon, several years after I met Jennifer, her body washed up on shore. To be more accurate, half her body washed up on one shore and what was left of the other half washed up on a different shore. This story involves a shark, in case you were wondering.
Jennifer was a princess in exile. Her family had ruled portions of what had then become a republic in the former Soviet Union, although being overrun by the Reds hadn't had anything to do with her family ceasing to rule. It didn't matter anyway. She only told me bits of the story, which didn't involve a shark. This story does. Hers didn't.
We weren't in love, exactly. With each other, I mean. Jennifer and I, I mean. The shark may have loved one or both of us, though the fact that Jennifer's body hadn't been digested suggests that if the shark loved her, it didn't care for her taste. But Jennifer and I weren't in love. Still, we moved in the same social circles and her family were modern enough to believe that I made a good match for her. So they encouraged our relationship.
My parents didn't care for her. "She's a nice enough girl," my father said, "but she isn't very interesting company." My other father didn't say anything because he was dead, but the chill in the air whenever Jennifer entered the house spoke volumes. Still, my fathers might not have liked her that much, but they knew I'd do what I was going to do and were more supportive than that time I got the tattoo of Marlon Wayans on my left thigh. It was a phase.
But Jennifer and I were in no rush to get married. Her family was champing at the bit a little, wanting grandchildren to continue the royal line, but we were still young. There was time. And anyway, her older brother was married to a countess and had the heir and the spare, so they didn't champ too hard.
And then a shark killed Jennifer's brother and his entire family. It was tragic. And suddenly the pressure was on. I started getting bridal magazines in the mail every day. Jennifer claimed it was coincidence, but I knew. And I realized, more and more, that while she was nice enough, she wasn't that interesting company and I didn't love her.
So I paid a warlock to curse her. Nothing major. But I guess he made a mistake and she wound up being brutally sawed in half during a failed magic show on a boat which exploded, sending the halves of her corpse flying into shark-infested waters.
Several days later, as previously related, her body washed into several shores. I was sad, certainly. She had been important to me. But I moved on, probably a bit too quickly for propriety. There was gossip all around our quaint seaside community. The warlock went into hiding. I think he works for a defense contractor now.
Sometimes I think of Jennifer when I see really bad magic acts. I don't think about sharks though. I really ought to, given that I live by the shore. Maybe I'm just waiting for my shark to show up. Maybe the taste it wants is me.
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