Who knows what happened that caused the idea to take root in the deep recesses of that mind, but Dorothy Catalonia was slowly being driven insane by the concept.

She wanted to get married.

It was such a foreign thought that she didn't recognize it when the first buds began to open. The choked-up feeling she developed every time she heard, or, worse, witnessed, another of her acquaintances tie the knot. The dense, unshakable loneliness that made her off-time hard to bear. The feeling that, no matter how many diversions she threw herself on, her life was slowly bleeding away.

When she finally realized the source of all her growing woes, she couldn't accept it as the truth. Her ruthless, selfish mind couldn't take in the fact that she needed someone else to complete her. 'Marriage' was not her cup of tea.

But those denials only fed the notion, now growing so fast that it shadowed over her; all Dorothy could see and think was 'marriage'. It took a while, but she caved in to the pressure, admitting to herself that 'marry' is now what she must do.

It was then that she began. Dorothy, who spent much of her youth focusing her cunning mind on more... masculine pursuits, didn't know a thing about getting a man to propose, and she wasn't about to do any proposing herself. Nevertheless, she turned that cunning mind to the task, spending much of her free time learning the tricks she will use to achieve her white-wedding goal.

She could be mysterious. She could be helpless. She could pretend to be what those men wanted because she was amazingly good at it. She quickly learned manipulation was the fastest way to the altar, and manipulation has always been a strong point of hers.

The men she attracted in subsequent months couldn't believe that the woman they courted had been a ruthless warrior, a lady that had courted war itself once. All they saw was a delicate, elusive butterfly, one they wanted to gently catch in their bare hands and protect from the ills of the world.

Her friends, who soon noticed the change, became confused as to when the self-reliant, almost sadistic Dorothy had been replaced by, in their eyes, a shy, soft replica. She never told them, not even those closest to her, what had wrought such a change in her public self. They would laugh, not understanding that manipulative honey, not honest vinegar, was going to snag her a husband.

The fruit ripe, and the wedding day set, she plucked it and savored her success. A lucky man by the name of Rozas finally won this little butterfly.

Woe to him if he ever figures out who the real master of the household is.

~~~end

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