Narcissa and Lily
The wedding is held on a bright summer morning in the middle of June. It is a perfect day for our love to be consummated: wildflowers bloom in the field around us and a soft blue sky hangs overhead. The air is clear and sweet-smelling and I can feel the gentle warmth of the sun on my face. If today is a reflection of our future life together, then marriage will be paradise for James and I.
I walk down the aisle with measured steps, careful of my long white gown. I look straight ahead, my eyes never leaving James's face. He is beaming at me, his happiness untouched by the silver smoke of memory that fogs my own mind.
Narcissa's eyes, clear as the sky. Her lips, parted in a knowing half-smile. "You will not forget me," she says.
I brush the memory aside as I would an old cobweb. I focus on James. James, with whom I will build a new life, a life free from the constant pain and fear that characterized my years with Narcissa. Perhaps living free from pain will mean living without passion—if that is the case, then so be it. I would rather live in painless happiness than exist forever in passionate agony.
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