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Suletta had always believed that Miorine would look beautiful on the day of their wedding. She could not have possibly prepared herself for how wrong she would be in this estimation as she beheld her bride now: Miorine was nothing so mundane, so banal, so mere as simply beautiful. Miorine was stunning, radiant, resplendent and divine, a vision of perfection made flesh. Her bridal gown was silken and flowing, laying against her body sensually and accentuating her curves and contours. Miorine’s soft, slender arms and shoulders were left bare by the sleeveless dress, a sight that only warmed Suletta’s heart further. Suletta felt like she could stand and gaze upon her wife-to-be for hours and hours.
Miorine strode towards Suletta bearing a bouquet of primroses and petunias, a variegated palette of pinks and purples and fuchsias that stood out brilliantly against her white dress and pale complexion. The smile that lit up her features was one that Suletta saw only rarely, in their most tender, private moments. Her fiance was not one to let her guard down often, even around Suletta, and seeing her beaming so brilliantly for all to see brought Suletta no end of joy. They were finally here, at the juncture they’d always longed for: safe, happy and above all, together.
That was the most important thing. Miorine and Suletta had been through so much together, through thick and thin, through battles and duels and intrigue. So much had conspired to tear them apart, to separate the two of them, yet they’d remained as one through every adversity, every misfortune. If there was one person that Suletta could always rely on to have her best interests at heart, one person who always came to her aid, who believed in her and supported her and truly loved her unconditionally, it was the angelic bride before her. No matter what happened, they would always protect each other, hold each other, save each other. Suletta couldn’t wait to take Miorine’s hand and make that promise in front of everyone. Laughing and with tears in her eyes, Suletta reached for Miorine.
The back of her hand brushed against the cold metal of the wall beside her cot. Slowly, painfully, Suletta opened her eyes.
The room was dark. Suletta was lying flat on the hard mattress, gazing up at an unlit ceiling with her arm raised towards it. A smile stretched across her face for no one to see, frozen upon her visage in a pantomime of happiness.
For a few blessed moments as she blinked rapidly and her vision began to adjust to the dimness, Suletta’s thoughts, like her expression, remained anchored in place. For just a few seconds, she was once again content, once again loved, once again whole.
It passed. Try as she might, Suletta could not hold onto the feelings, hold onto the dream. Her joy was fleeting, ephemeral, slipping through her fingers like she’d tried to grasp water. Suletta lowered her arm, her fingers now clawing at her heart as it once again began to ache.
And what an ache it was.
Suletta turned over, burying her face in her pillow. She bit into it with as much force and power as she could muster, making a herculean effort to not scream, to not wail and cry and keen into it. Fresh tears soaked into the still-wet pillowcase, the last drops not having yet dried, and Suletta clenched her hands into fists so hard they trembled and shook, trying in vain to have her body feel anything, anything at all other than the vast, gaping wound in her soul. A single thought penetrated through the dense fog of her own incompleteness as she failed to suppress the violent sobs wracking her whole body: that ultimately, she’d been proven right.
It had all been too good to be true.