Word:Picture
011 : 05 Fingers
A red dress had hugged her figure, flourishes of embroidery scattered across the silk. She had held two white lilies in her hands, their delicate petals creasing where she had pulled them close to her abdomen. The hair dressers had come in the morning, her hair a mass of ringlets, held up by a single clip, one or two blonde wisps falling from it's grasp.
You look beautiful, her father had whispered, his voice cracking.
She had smiled, wide and sincere, as he linked his arm in her own. The church they had been stood outside was suddenly hushed, and the only sound that had been carried out to them was the plucking of a harp. She had taken a deep breath, content in the knowledge that this was going to be the best day of her life.
If only it had lasted longer.
It had been in the same church, this time without the delicate chorus of harp strings, but instead the mournful funeral march of an organ.
You don't have to go, they had assured her the night before, you can stay here, you know.
She had known. It was only upon arrived at those great wooden doors that shielded the inside of the church from her, she had wished she was at home. But she had needed to do this; needed to say goodbye. She had been unable to keep the thought that these last words was coming far too soon after their first.
She hadn't cried. Not like the first time they were together in this church; though this time he was enclosed in a wooden prison, rather than standing waiting for her at the top of the aisle, as she had half expected he would be when she had walked in there. She had wept so much on their special day, from happiness. But no tears of sorrow clouded her vision, tipped over onto her cheeks were it ran tracks through the thin layer of make-up she had on. Her eyes had remained dry, as had her throat, through the ceremony this time.
And as the congregation rose to file neatly out, she had walked up to the coffin, brushing her fingers over the name plate, the other hand absent mindedly fingering the petals of the lilies that sat atop it, she had whispered three words to her lover. Then she had turned, joined the end of the line of the rest of the mourners, head down, biting her lip. It had been only then that the tears began to fall.
I'm so sorry.
