What could have been

Ch 1

The wedding dress hung like a ghost in the corner of Bloom's chambers. She sat at her vanity, staring at her reflection without really seeing it, her fingers absently tracing the intricate beadwork of her engagement ring. Tomorrow—no, in just a few hours now—she would walk down that aisle and become Princess Bloom of Eraklyon.

The thought should have filled her with joy. Instead, it settled in her stomach like a stone.

"You're being ridiculous," she whispered to her reflection. "Sky loves you. You love Sky."

But even as she said the words, they felt hollow, like reciting lines from a play she'd never auditioned for.

A soft knock interrupted her thoughts. "Bloom?" Sky's voice carried through the heavy oak door. "May I come in?"

She quickly arranged her features into what she hoped looked like bridal excitement. "Of course."

Sky entered, resplendent in his formal evening wear, his golden hair perfectly styled. He looked every inch the prince he was—handsome, noble, everything a fairy tale demanded. Yet as he approached, Bloom found herself noting the careful distance he maintained, how his smile never quite reached his eyes when he looked at her anymore.

"I thought you might want some company," he said, settling into the chair across from her vanity. "The castle feels so quiet tonight."

"Nervous energy, I suppose." Bloom turned to face him properly. "Tomorrow changes everything."

"Yes, it does." His agreement came too quickly, too practiced. "Are you... are you ready for that?"

The question hung between them, weighted with meanings neither seemed willing to voice. Bloom studied his face, searching for something—passion, uncertainty, anything that might mirror the chaos in her own heart. Instead, she found only the same careful composure he'd worn for months.

"Are you?" she asked.

Sky's laugh was warm but somehow distant. "I've been preparing for this my entire life, Bloom. Duty, responsibility, the right marriage for the kingdom..." He trailed off, perhaps hearing what he'd just revealed.

"The right marriage," Bloom repeated slowly. "Is that what this is?"

For a moment, something flickered across Sky's features—doubt, perhaps, or regret. But it was gone so quickly she might have imagined it.

"Of course not," he said, reaching across to take her hand. His touch was gentle, familiar, and utterly without spark. "I care about you deeply, Bloom. You know that."

_Care._ Not love. Not devotion or passion or any of the things that should have been flowing between them on the eve of their wedding. Just... care. The kind of affection one might feel for a cherished friend or a favorite cousin.

"I care about you too," she replied, and hated how true it was. She did care about Sky—had always cared about him. But caring wasn't enough, was it? Caring wasn't the fire that should burn between two people pledging their lives to each other.

Sky squeezed her hand once before releasing it. "I should let you rest. Tomorrow will be a long day."

He stood, pausing at the door. For a heartbeat, Bloom thought he might say something more, might voice the questions that seemed to hover in the air between them. Instead, he simply offered another of those careful smiles.

"Good night, Bloom. Sweet dreams."

The door closed with a soft click, leaving her alone with the wedding dress and her doubts.

Bloom returned to her vanity, but instead of seeing her own reflection clearly, she found herself lost in thought about other couples she'd observed—couples who lit up when they saw each other, who couldn't seem to keep their hands to themselves, who talked and laughed and argued with equal passion. She and Sky had never been like that. Their relationship had always been... pleasant. Comfortable. Safe.

When had she started settling for safe?

Fragments of memory flickered through her mind—moments of laughter that had made her stomach flutter, hands that had felt so right in hers, conversations that had stretched late into the night because neither wanted them to end. A connection so intense it had frightened her with its power, made her question everything she thought she knew about herself.

But that was in the past. That person was... gone from her life now, and dwelling on what might have been would only make tomorrow more difficult.

Bloom shook her head, trying to dispel the melancholy that seemed determined to settle over her. She moved to the window, gazing out at the gardens below. Tomorrow's ceremony would be held there, among the roses and jasmine, with hundreds of guests watching as she pledged her life to a man who cared about her. Who would be kind to her, who would give her children and a crown and everything a woman was supposed to want.

So why did she feel like she was suffocating?

The evening air was cool against her skin as she pushed open the window, breathing deeply. Somewhere in the distance, a nightingale was singing—a pure, sweet song that somehow made her chest ache. She closed her eyes, letting the sound wash over her, and for just a moment allowed herself to wonder what it would feel like to marry someone who looked at her like she was their whole world. Someone whose touch sent lightning through her veins. Someone who challenged her, pushed her, made her feel truly alive.

_Stop it,_ she commanded herself. _That kind of love is a luxury you can't afford. Sky is good. Sky is stable. Sky will never leave you._

The thought brought unexpected tears to her eyes. She blinked them away quickly, angry at herself for this sudden sentimentality.

Bloom turned away from the window and began preparing for bed, her movements mechanical. She hung up her day dress, washed her face, brushed out her long red hair. All the while, she tried to focus on practical things—tomorrow's schedule, the guest list, the weather forecast. Anything but the growing certainty that she was about to bind herself to someone who would never truly know her.

As she settled into bed, Bloom stared up at the canopy above her, moonlight filtering through the fabric in delicate patterns. Her eyes grew heavy despite the turmoil in her mind, exhaustion finally winning out over anxiety. But even as sleep began to claim her, doubts continued to swirl through her thoughts like autumn leaves in a windstorm.

Was this really what she wanted? A marriage built on mutual respect and practical considerations? Or had she simply convinced herself it was enough because the alternative—admitting she wanted something more, something that might not even exist—was too terrifying to contemplate?

Just before sleep claimed her completely, she whispered a prayer to whatever forces might be listening:

"Please... if this is wrong, show me. Help me understand what I'm supposed to do."

Her last conscious thought was of the wedding dress in the corner, standing sentinel in the moonlight. Tomorrow she would put it on and walk toward a future that felt predetermined, inevitable. But tonight, in the space between waking and dreaming, anything seemed possible.

Then darkness pulled her under, and her dreams began to take shape around a presence both ancient and knowing—something that had been waiting for her to finally ask the right question.