It was a lovely Saturday afternoon when she veiled herself, cathedral length it was, painstakingly hand crafted to embroider her on her special day but even its exceptionally thick draping could only shadow the funeral at hand for so long. She remembered it so vividly, as fresh as the wound the marital charade had imprinted on her. Back then she knew not of the true purpose of human eyes, they were not for seeing rather they were instruments for the discovery of revelations hidden in faraway recessions,regions too deep for physical sight to penetrate.

Memories of the façade rife in her mind, the tuxedo, the gifts, and the beautiful man before her all mere nails further nailing her to the frightful chapter of life she embarked. Hers became a monstrous nightmare wrapped neatly in the fantastical ribbon of a fairy tale , the remembrance of it scalded her incessantly,hot tears burning their way through her ruddy complexion.

Now all that was left were morsels of her previous spirit, he had devoured her life force and she was more than ready to barter the remnants of it to the devil if only for the merciful gift of death, a miserable existence nonetheless but at least with a new environment and her endorsement for a change, a hell of her own choosing was all she had energy to hope for.

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5 thoughts on “altering tales

  1. Wow.. This is more like a death than a marriage.. I get quite a few metaphors.. Her life isn’t beginning but ending.. Her only hope of happiness is in death, as she is only just tolerating the marriage and whatever life subsequently after.. Melancholy Bride..

    Liked by 1 person

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