It promised to be a beautiful day full of white lace and champagne toasts. The dress swished as she walked. Like a princess she smiled at her entourage of hope. Handsome men were clad in grey and they waved to the bridemaids across the corridor. The chords of beautiful music floated from the chapel as the doors were opened … waiting.
“Here’s you bouquet.” The bride inhaled the beauty of the day.
“This is your course unless…” a family member looked more solemn than she should.
“What can go wrong?” the bride wanted to fling her bouquet toward happy tomorrows.
The day and everything about it was perfect.
She opened her gift as he went to get champagne for a toast. In it was a cold gray blade that mirrored the flicker of candlelight. A note was caressing it.
Slit your throat and make an easy end or your life. Or choose that each day will be torment and hell. ~ A
“Who would slit their throat?” she gasped back tears that were supposed to be relishing future happiness.
“There is one other option.” She heard a whisper in the crackles of the fire. “His instead of yours.”
With her head in her hands, she reached a resolution.
“What groom would want his bride to take her life?” She looked at the knife and slipped the note in her corset.
He came in rather unsteady with a bottle in hand. A look of surprise that she wasn’t lying dead on the floor; instead she was clothed in black leather.
“You have decided then.” He laughed a nepharious cackle.
“Yes” she slid the sharp blade silently against a bulging jugular.
“Here dear this belongs to you.” She deftly place the knife in his right hand and tucked a note into his pocket. It explained that he could not continue a life where he was trapped with a woman he did not love.
“Can’t get this soiled.” White lace was folded and carefully put in a pillow case. She slipped into her red travelling dress glad that he had told her he liked red headed lovers. The wig presented an excellent disguise.
“I’m glad you insisted on red.” she whispered to her husband as she slid into 4 inch red stilettos.
She left the black riding whip on the bed stand. “For another time perhaps…”