First of all, I'd like to say thank you to everyone who read and reviewed my last fanfic - I hope you enjoy this one just as much. I'm going to (try to) update regularly; unlike my last one, this will be more than one chapter. I have both read and watched the film version of the Thief Lord, and have borrowed some ideas from both but with different characters added. Disclaimer: I do not own any characters apart from the ones NOT featured in the book: Alyssa, James... etc. I'd rather people didn't use the main ones in their stories without my permission, but you are welcome to use ones like Sara, seeing as she probably never appear again. More characters will pop up as the story develops.
Flowers. They're the first thing I notice when I enter the room. Their sickly sweet smell lingers in the air, almost as overwhelming as the perfume my maid of honour has drenched me in. "Something borrowed," she explained, as she sprayed the foul stuff. I walk slowly over to the looking glass set in a gold gilt frame on the other side of the room, a simple task made hard by the uncomfortable corset I'm wearing underneath and the new heels which pinch at my feet.
When I stare at my reflection, I see a perfect, pristine woman with not a single hair out of place. Her hair has been teased into a hopelessly elaborate hairstyle to emphasis her slender neck, around which dozens of expensive pearls have been draped. There's no denying the woman I see before me is immaculate in every single way, but she is no more than doll, lifeless and cold. She may be a remarkably pretty doll, but she is a doll nonetheless. Her hair was styled by others, the hideously bulky wedding dress that swamps her chosen by others too . She had no say in the matter whatsoever.
"You look absolutely beautiful!" trills Sara. Does she really think that? Or is she simply trying to kid herself she did a good job?
A hour later, I'm walking down the aisle, accompanied by my fiancé's father. My own father passed away just a few weeks ago, happy to leave me in the care of James Redmond. He and James' father had always been very good friends.
"Everything okay?" James asks when I finally reach the altar. The music had died down now, our friends and family now seated.
"Perfect," I say, smiling at him.
And then I notice him.
I thought I'd long since cut all ties with him, but obviously, I was wrong. Suddenly, I feel faint, and my skin begins to feel cold and clammy, like it doesn't belong to me and I'm wearing someone else's. It's taking all my strength just to stay standing.
Why? Why couldn't he just leave me alone?
***
I ran and I ran, not knowing -nor caring- where I was headed. I just needed to be as far away as possible. I eventually ended up by the canal, where I collapsed onto the ground with a heavy heart. Then I cried, until there were no more tears left to cry. What made me think i could ever be happy? That sort of thing never happened to a person like me. Happiness was a long forgotten emotion which was destined to stay locked in a dusty chest, and I was a fool to think I'd finally found the key, after so many years of searching, after so many years of wishing my life was different. I started crying again, this time for the life I'd just lost, because I knew I would not be returning to Stella that night.
***
There were moments when my heart ached to see them again, the people who rescued me and helped me, who taught me love and friendship really did exist: clever Hornet, the irresistibly adorable Bo and his older brother, Riccio the hedgehog, Mosca... However, I buried these memories deep in the back of my mind, determined to forget, and as the years passed, my recollections of that remarkable bunch of people grew hazier, their faces blurred as if they were photographs left to disintegrate in a puddle of water. But there was one whose face I'd never forget, and never in my wildest dreams did I expect to see him stand before me again. Yet here he is now, as confident and as handsome as he was six years ago, when I last saw him. The Thief Lord.
My heart pounds, the rapid beating echoing in my ears. Trickles of sweat run down the small of my back. I feel as if there's something pressing down on my chest, preventing air from reaching my lungs. I can't breathe I can't breathe I can't breathe. The voices of concerned relatives barely register; they come distant and unclear. I take one last look at him and then everything goes black.
By the way, if anyone knows around what year The Thief Lord is set / how old Scipio was in the book before he rode the roundabout, that would be great.