tiny little kingdoms

ONE

Blinded by the silk veil floating above my head, I ambled to the altar. The air was warm on my bare hands and arms, and each step was rhythmic and precise, as had been carved with a months' worth of practice.

I could feel the judgmental eyes on me: my mother, father, and future in-laws, and, to make matters worse, I was starting to get gassy, a dreadful cauldron bubble deep in my stomach.

I made my best attempt to split my focus, to walk straight and Cast the indigestion away. I couldn't let anyone know anything was wrong. Not today.

Apparently, I wasn't doing a good enough job, as a blast of energy nudged me significantly to my right.

Dammit, I fumed. My mother had had to Cast me in the proper direction, and I wasn't ever going to hear the end of it.

So the indigestion roiling in my gut went unchecked while I focused on my march, the march that felt endless. I had never before observed the temple to be that big, when I made my mandated appearances on sacred days, so why did it seem so impossible and infinite now? Why now, at this very moment, did my steps feel like pebbles of sand on a beach, small and unimportant?

The bodice of my dress was so tight against my body, that each nervous breath was quick and sharp.

Underneath the veil, I caught glimpses of the perfectly polished floor, and the intricate patterns beneath the polish. I had seen the centuries old designs beneath my feet time and again. Still, probably due to some extensive spellwork by an Aurora House member, the exact nature was unfamiliar, and hard to follow.

And why the fuck was it so fucking hot? I was sweating under the veil, though it wasn't truly affixed to my head. The silk fabric (chosen in accordance with Bright Tradition) floated inches above me, trapped every ounce of heat to my skin. Each step I took felt like I was getting closer and closer to hell. 

Oh, Gods. I really was, wasn't I? A domestic hell. A life of servitude and duty. Of marriage to someone that I had never met.

Something tugged on the trail of my dress, and my mother gave a frustrated hiss as I stumbled backwards.

"Too close!" I heard her cry. "Too close! Do it again!"

Another male voice cut through the scuffle, but it wasn't my father's. "No! Just carry on as you would-"

"NO!" My mother shrieked louder, "She needs to get it right! She needs to stop at the right time!"

Unwilling to take off my veil and face more of my mother's wrath, I froze anxiously in what I thought must have been the altar, passionate voices whipping all around me.

A different male voice shakily tried to appease my mother's fiery will. "That's what the dress rehearsal is for, Mery. The young madam has plenty of time to get it right before the ceremony."

"Excuse me, Father, but the ceremony is tomorrow. I know my daughter. I know her strengths, I know her weaknesses and I know that the amount of time we have is not enough. If Kyla does not do it perfectly today, she will not remember to do it perfectly tomorrow." My mom's voice was trembling with anger. All I was really angry about was being called "young madam".

Another female voice spoke out from the pews, and I could almost imagine my mother going purple with rage.

"Then, run it again, while my family takes a rest in the parlor." The voice of my future mother-in-law was muffled behind my veil and almost drowned out completely by the sound of her heels clacking against the hardwood floor. "I trust you will call us when you are ready to proceed."

"No. Stay right here and we will continue." My mother instructed.

"You seem to be uncertain. As well as...anxious."

The irony in that statement was so bitter that I scowled. Anxious? My mom wasn't the one getting married to a complete stranger.

"I'm not anxious!" My mother lied. "I simply think that my daughter has some things that she needs to work on. And I'm sure that your son does as well."

In a strained voice, my future mother-in-law said. "I don't know what you mean by that-"

"I mean that-"

"However, I simply must request that you leave my son out of this."

"He's the other half of the ceremony!" My mother snapped. "His whole job is to be a part of this!"

"He has made no mistakes." His mother insisted. "The same cannot be said for your daughter."

Now other voices were chiming in- almost everybody's, it seemed- except for the person next to me- the groom.

"Can I take the veil off?" I asked in the direction of the priest, fighting to be heard over the noise of my parents and in-laws going at it as only two pairs of important people from rivaling Houses knew how: brutally and endlessly.

The priest did not answer, and I didn't want to risk fucking up again. The veil remained floating above me by the priest's spellwork. His job was to hold the silk fabric up while he performed an equally important task: reciting the blessings and vows over the union, and to not let the veil down until he was finished. Then, he would lower it gently to the ground with a swish of his hand. And I would face my groom. And have him, as the Giftless would say, "for better or worse".

I could see the polished black boot of her groom, anxiously sliding on the floor as he turned to face the arguing parties.

As I was wondering intently what he could possibly be thinking about, the sound of shattering glass overpowered all else. The veil dropped suddenly onto my head, blinding me completely, muffling the cacophony. 

With a thud, something heavy landed at my feet, bearing down on the hem of my dress, my tits- which were already dangerously close to popping out- almost revealing themselves above the low, square collar.

"Kyla!" My father screamed.

"What?!" I replied, trying to follow the sound of my parents, and avoid whatever was making the worst sound I'd ever heard in my life.

As I reached to remove the veil, a violent gust of wind blew in my direction, pressing the silk harder against my face. My mouth and nostrils flooded with smooth fabric, and my hands dropped helplessly to my sides. 

"What happened?" I asked, when I could finally breath again.

My question was met with a deep gasp and a painful wail, from my future mother-in-law. "Dennis!"

Who the hell was Dennis?

"Can I lift- I'm gonna lift the veil." I said. I Casted the veil away with a flick of my wrist and took in the confusing sight.

Shards of glass (probably from the hopelessly shattered temple window) lay scattered all over the floor, glittering like pebbles of sand. On top of them lay the motionless figure of a young white man, his mother trembling, clutching his body, sobbing loudly in his face. 

He was pale from exsanguination, his blood leaking from the deep gashes in his chest, all over the floor and his pristine blue co-ord. His pale blue eyes were open, his face stricken with horror. He was clutching a satin blindfold in his hand, meaning he was bold enough to take a peek at what probably ended his life.

That's right, he was dead. Probably from whatever swept through the temple. 

More importantly, he was the groom.

Dennis. His name was Dennis. And Dennis was the groom, and he was dead.

I looked around the room, at my parents, at his parents, and at the priest. Everyone seemed to be frozen, like they were waiting for a sign, or some kind of instruction. Everyone except Dennis' mom, screaming and holding her son's dead body.

Finally, like a wave of sense had swept over the group, my parents, the priest, and my father-in-law rushed from the pews to the bloody scene. 

Still frozen, I whispered to myself, "Well, shit."