Curate, connect, and discover
“you mocked me once, never do it again!” she cried, furious. “i died that day! and you can die too, for all i care!” she shoved him, and he tumbled down the steep slope.
“as you wish!” he called after her.
“westley?” she said -- and stared at the masked man, hurtling downwards. his voice had been familiar, yes, but it was only with the familiar words that she recognized him.
how could her westley have said such horrible things to her?
“why did you say those things?” she shouted down to him, after he had landed.
“what?”
“why did you say all those awful, cruel things to me?”
he stared up at her, a little black figure, and buttercup felt sad for the first time since humperdinck had proposed to her. the blankness of loss was one thing. the cruelty of a loved one was different, and somehow sharper.
“why did you agree to marry humperdinck?” he called. “i told you i would come back!”
“you were dead!”
“death cannot stop true love! it can only delay it for a while.”
“oh! that is easy for you to say!” she cried. “what if you thought i was dead? what would you have done?”
“not gone off and married some princess, that’s for certain!”
“i already told you, i don’t love humperdinck -- and anyway, he would have had me killed if i hadn’t agreed to marry him! would you have rather i died?”
“buttercup --”
“would you have rather i died?”
he paused, and shook his head.
“you knew the sicilian and his gang had kidnapped me. you could have found out why i married humperdinck, couldn’t you?”
“i heard rumors.”
“rumors of what?”
“well, how cruel he is, how his friend count tyrone has a torture chamber ...”
“how could you have thought that i loved him, then?”
“well, i --”
“how,” she continued, even more angry and even more sad, “could you have thought i would love a scheming tyrant like him? do you really think so badly of me?”
“buttercup, i --”
“at least humperdinck has the decency of telling me how horrible he is! but you -- you tell me that you love me, and at the first doubt you turn on me, you call me faithless, you threaten to strike me!”
“humperdinck threatened to chop your head off!” he yelled, indignant. “how can hitting you be even close to as bad?”
“be quiet!” buttercup exploded, and, surprised by such a vehement command, westley obeyed. “i am sick of you telling me what’s good and what’s bad, what’s right and what’s wrong! you have all these pretty words that you use, but none of them means anything! death can’t stop true love -- well, it mustn’t have been very true, if preventing my own death made you stop loving me. or did you ever actually love me at all?”
and for once, westley had no witty, ready-made answer.