Work Text:
zersplittert.
from german: split, shattered, splintered, fragmented, broken.
That spring morning, she’s more beautiful than ever. She has prepared everything flawlessly: her dress, her hair, her jewelry, her make-up, the perfume she chose to wear. Nobody can deny it: she’s the most beautiful girl among that crowd of people dressed with fine clothes, more or less. Many men are throwing her looks of appreciation. Occasionally, some girls she doesn't know point at her and whisper something to the person next to them - something nice, maybe, but deep down she does not care that much. To be honest, she does not have the slightest interest in those people without an identity, without a face to show.
She stands among the crowd and looks at him: he's there, next to the altar, looking visibly nervous. She almost doesn't recognize him anymore with that suit on - him, a man that once was a kid who hated to get all dressed up. In the end, he has also become a mask - and he looks so ungraceful, so awkward in the role of adult that he will have to play from now on. She lets go of an honest smile when he sees him greet a couple of friends nearby. His spontaneity has always been a strength of him and she has to admit that, under that aspect, he has not changed.
She wants to step towards him, walk to him and be at his side, but she knows very well that it's not her turn for it. She lost her opportunity a long time ago.
The wedding march starts to play. She turns and she sees her: her wedding dress is perfect, magnificent. Her golden strands fall on her pale, naked back, and her grey eyes are barely visible behind the candid bridal veil. Every step she takes with her silver heels feels like a shot in her heart: it was supposed to be her, walking down that red carpet covered of pink flower petals and daisies. It's something she has dreamt about too many times for it not to become reality.
Yet, she is not there, but standing instead in the anonymous crowd, a blurred mass she just wishes could disappear. Maybe, she wants to disappear.
She does not even know why she decided to be there; if she had stayed home, maybe that pain would be weaker - she stopped lying to herself a long time ago and she knew she would have been broken in any case. He insisted for her to be there and she - oh, so silly - she couldn't say no to him. She never managed to say no to him.
The bride has reached the altar: with that white dress, she shines brighter than the sun. She cannot deny that she's beautiful - surely, more beautiful than herself. He chose her, after all.
She doesn't know exactly what she feels towards that woman. Envy, maybe, or just hatred. Yet, she cannot hate her more than she does for herself - because she knows very well that her suffering is just her fault, hers alone and of her stupid insecurities, hers alone and of her fear of pain - the same pain she feels right now. In the end, her restraints did not serve her any good. She believed to protect herself, but how ironic things have turned.
The thing that hurts her most is the look he gives to her, his bride. How many time did she dream those hazelnut eyes look at her that way? How many times did she imagine to be at his side, to be his family, to be held by those adult arms of his?
She has always been so confident of the future: what did she think? That that distance, those years of loneliness were just little moments of waiting for her new, beautiful life with him? She believed it: she was waiting for her destiny - or better, her wish for that destiny. She has always dreamt his return, until that very moment - or maybe her return, because maybe she had to reach to him, and not him to come back to her. She has always kept hidden in her heart the silly confidence that one day they would have met again, fallen in love again, and that she would have been at her side until the very end.
Waiting. That was her biggest mistake: she waited and hoped and, in the meanwhile, she didn't do anything, because she always believed that it was too late to step further.
But maybe it has always been too late.
Suddenly, in the middle of the ceremony, he turns towards her. A chill runs down her spine and pierces into every single vertebra of her body.
He smiles to her.
That smile she so much loves, that smile she always wanted all for herself, forever; that smile that filled her voids, that smile that she kept hidden in her chest, that smile that kept her company in her dreams and in her lonely nights. The same smile that made her fall in love, and that now makes her fall in love all over again.
She cannot stand this any further. She doesn't have a heart anymore: it just broke in million of pieces, and it will keep breaking for the whole eternity.
She unintentionally curves her lips in pain. She would like to smile instead, but she really cannot control herself anymore. She feels an ocean of tears fill her eyes, roll down her cheeks - and then she notices it, his worried face, his confused eyes still looking at her.
Her last hope dies with her love. But before its last breath, she decides to do it - even if it's too late.
"I love you."
She whispers it so silently that nobody around her can hear it. The possibility that he might have not understood disappears as soon as she sees his wide eyes, his open mouth, his motionless arms. The spelling of her lips was too clear not to be understood by the one who still defines himself as her best friend.
But she always wanted something more from Ash. She wanted his life.
Before the bride could turn towards her, she turns and runs away, pushing away all the other masks giving her confused looks. They cannot understand - they will never understand the storm that torments her heart, and she hates them, she hates them because they stare at her, because they talk even if they know nothing, and because they love Serena, and not Misty Waterflower.
And at the same time, she hates him too, but she loves him, and she knows that she will be cursed to do it until death will embrace her for good.
Misty Waterflower, you tripped over time, and fear won you. Forever.