It was not darkness but a complete suffocating absence of color, in this historic palace where the entire world was built around this place.
It was covered with a single, immense sheet of ashen gray cloud. The day only just started yet.
inside the Palace the effect was one of perpetual dusk the tall narrow windows, meant to capture the brilliance of the midday sun, now simply funneled in a Leaden wash of Light that made the dozens of white roses appear bruised and sickly.
The guests. few of them attended this weeding that was bathed in darkness.
They seemed to merge with the heavy shadows of the antique woodwork.
There was no nervous excitement, no whispering.
There was only silence That was like a mutual agreement to get this thing over with.
Nile Thorne, the groom.
He stood Still at the altar, his hand clasped behind his back resembling a statue.
the man stood there about to pledge his life to another..
He did not know who she was, her personality, her Locks or anything at all
the only thing that he knew about this person that is about to be his other half in her name.
The organist finally broke the spell, delivering a piece that sounded less like a celebration and more like the slow falling of a great bell.
Every head turned as the gaint double doors opened. releasing a sudden chilling gust of air.
And then she appeared.
The bride was not in white, or cream ,or ivory, She wore a dress of midnight -black silk, a garment so stark it seemed to drink the few light that remained in the room.
The fabric cascading was cut in perfect traditional line of a formal weeding gown.
It was a dress that should be worn to an
execution or a funeral not a promise.
The guests were silent not a single one
opened there mouth as if they already knew that was going to happen
The bride Lady Anna was oblivious to
the spectacle she had created. The dress around her felt like a cage, the air was too thin, too cold, her palms were calmmy.
her head was down and her vision, was foucesed on her feet as she proceeded taking small, stiff steps focusing on not tripping over
she could not rais her head up to see the guest - not that they are looking at her - or the man that was waiting for her even if she did manage to do so She would not be able to see anything as her vision was always frail every thing beyond two meters was a blurry, water haze.
She could only see the polished Shine of her own black shoes, the exact texture of the antique runner beneath her feet.
The aisle was an endless, featureless tunnel she knew the groom was at the end but he was currently nothing more than a tall , dark, unreachable shape lost in the dark oppressive fog,
she was moving toward a man she couldn't properly see. in a dress that declared her despair, praying only that her trembling legs would not betray her befor she reaches the point of no return