Backwards she tumbled, through the looking glass and into his web. The Antisocial, weaver of unrest, spinner of sorrow. Molecule by inverted molecule, he rewired her polarity, magnetizing misery. Eyes wide shut, she grasped the lightning rod with eager hands, volts of anguish coursing through her veins.

“Why?” etched the Burning Bush into her grey matter tablets, ancient Hebrew glyphs seared into synapses. Attraction defied – slight, pale, short – a trifecta of repulsion now irresistible. Vows evaporated, the Siege Perilous crumbled beneath her Husband of the Round Table.

Fiber-optic salvos inaugurated their affair, a war of wit waged across tangled lines. Loathing blossomed like a mushroom cloud, fallout blanketing city blocks in a haze of hostility. Then, the inevitable rendezvous.

She armed herself – tongue sharpened, nails envenomed, a Boudicca ready for battle. But The Antisocial parried with poetry, lunging with depth, riposting with kindness. Centuries of practiced artifice unlocked her fortress, he the skeleton key to her guarded heart.

Cruelty cloaked as teaching, injury excused as lesson. Strength assaulted to instill strength, an ouroboros of contradiction devouring its own tail. Morality inverted, a chessboard where white transmuted to black then back again. Friendship a threadbare consolation prize, a fun house mirror reflecting shattered vows.

The Could-Nots piled up like a blacklist, her life redacted:

Conversation censored.
Happiness hijacked.
Questions quarantined.
Anger untouchable.
Emotions embargoed.
Love on loan.
Could-Nots multiplying like cancer cells, metastasizing misery.

Too late, the poison had taken hold, the clay of her being remolded by his deft fingers. She ate anguish like ambrosia, wore woe like couture. “Mrs. Antisocial” no longer a name but a life sentence.

In a quantum multiverse of limitless soul mates, she collapsed into his singularity. To love The Antisocial was to embrace entropy. Hand in unlovable hand, they tangoed into oblivion, two subatomic particles entwined in a dance of mutually assured deconstruction. The Antisocial and his antimatter bride, a romance written in the stars, punctuated by a black hole.