The woman in the mirror hardly felt like me.
Her skin glowed pale beneath the soft veil of the moonlight, her lips painted in the color of old roses. The gown shimmering softly, white silk against the dim light of the room, making me look delicate, almost unreal. As if I belonged to another life, entirely.
I lifted a trembling hand to my bodice, fingertips tracing the smooth, weightless fabric. For so long, I had imagined this moment. And yet, after all the things we've been through, I'd never dared to dwell on it. It paled, in comparison to the blood, the grief, the endless nights spent wondering if forever would ever truly be ours.
It had always felt too far, too fragile, compared to the rawness of our survival. I used to think I wouldn't mind if we never made it official. So long as we still found our way back to each other.
And yet, here we were.
