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Wedding Bells

Gazing at me was a pale, elegant young woman, her dark hair cascading down her back. Her azure eyes had a passion about them, and she was remarkably attractive, despite being dressed in a simple gown. I removed myself from the mirror, letting out a sweet whistle, before allowing myself to fall onto the bed. I felt a juvenile presence within me, a small little girl; one I had so long ago lost in the stretch of time.

Inside I was screaming with anticipation, thoughts raced around my mind. I could already visualize it all happening. It all seemed as pure bliss. I heaved myself onto my feet, as all of a sudden the candle blew, leaving the room in darkness. The dark was a great fear of mine, it was just so eerie, and this dimness was no exception. I let out a low, whimper.

I was frightened, the happiness overwhelmed by the fear. I heard something move, I could sense it. I screamed as a firm hand clasped around my mouth – a muffled sound escaped. I heard him whisper something into my ears … a faint stinging sensation … a soft crash … darkness. 1

* * * 2

He was standing outside the magnificent cathedral, greeting guests as they passed into the inner halls. He was beginning to become quite worried, there was no sign of his loved one. Carriages arrived, bringing more and more guests, but still she showed no sign of her presence.

He went inside. The hall was almost entirely occupied. It was a splendid sight. Statues and bronze crosses aligned the corners, the glass windows were stained with gleaming colours and canvases of mythical beasts and legends hung on the walls. The very end of the hall hosted a raised, stone platform where standing behind a large wooden stand was the village priest, a glint of impatience visible in his eyes.

Out of the blue, two horns bellowed and he turned around. He could see a golden carriage coming, and in that moment, he breathed a sigh of relief. He ran towards the approaching carriage and opened the door, just as it came to a halt.

The figure of a woman descended the small, carriage stairs. She was clothed in a white graceful dress, with silver ribbons tossed around and her face was hidden behind a veil, completely obscuring her features. He took her hand in his and kissed it, before taking her arm and leading her into the halls.

The seated guests rose to their feet, honoring the presence of the two lovers as they walked to the platform. The two faced each other, right before the priest, who opened up a large, dusty book and began to recite thus:

“All of us are gathered here, on this auspicious occasion, in the marriage ceremony of the fair and beautiful Ruma, daughter of Iar with Eraag, son of Oreean … and so forth, let us unite in prayer that these lovers in the House of God, stay together for evermore.”

He looked at her, his face radiant with joy. It was going just as they had planned, the soft, melodious music, the clinking of bells and the smooth ceremony. The priest closed the book, and folding his hands began speaking.

“Does thee, Ruma take thy love, Eraag to be thy husband?”

“I do,”

“And does thee, Egaar take thy love, Ruma to be thy bride?”

“I do,”

“Then thy may kiss the bride …” the Priest finished. Eraag looked at his love and came closer, but she backed away, her hands trembling.

“No,” she said, her voice a wavering whisper.

“Is something wrong?” he asked her.

“Yes,” she answered, her hand griping the veil, pulling it across her face. He was getting confused and angry. He walked across and tore the veil apart revealing his lover’s face.

“Oh heaven …” he exclaimed, crashing to his knees, still gazing, appalled, at her face. The skin was scarred, thin, deep cuts that ran on under the chin. It was gruesome. The guests screamed, gasped and ran out of the cathedral. The Priest hung onto the stand, repulsion clear upon his face.

Tears escaped her eyes, falling onto the floor. She fell to her knees, and grabbed his feet, holding him, sobbing hysterically. Half of her face was scalded, the once translucent skin – now scathed, blistered flesh. He shoved her away and walked out of the halls. Eraag too was crying, crying from the ‘great betrayal’ as they called it ever after.  

There upon the cold floor of the empty House of God, the wronged woman lay, ever crying, ever weeping for her lost love, ever silent in the pain, and then … ever gone.
Poor Guy
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Upload Date: 31/12/1969

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