The candles were melted, now, their lights long burned out. The floor was littered in crumpled up tissues and red rose petals, plucked from the stems. By now she was sure the ice sculptures, in the reception hall, had melted, and the butterflies to be released at their first kiss, were all dead. And, oh, how she wanted to weep when thinking that the bottom tier of the four tiered, lemon cake, with the perfectly sculpted white rosebuds, was all but gone.

Her white, lace, princess style gown, with the silk buttons, matching cathedral veil, and white pumps had been long packed up, and sent back to her- their- home. The dress would stare at her from the inside of a glass case, until the day she died. The make up had been cleaned from her face, and left dark smudges under her eyes. Her hair had been taken down from its intricate braiding, and now fell into soft waves on her shoulders.

The honeymoon tickets were sealed up in an envelope somewhere, waiting to be sent to her cousin and his wife.

'I'm sorry... I can't.' Even thinking about the words invoked bitter anger in her.

… I can't.

CAN'T! As though their love was something she had forced upon him! As though she had been the one to push him into proposing.

Even his brother, who rarely showed any emotion at all, had stood in the doorway to her dressing room, and stared at her with sympathy as her bridesmaids flocked around her with calming pats, and whispered apologies.

"My brother is an idiot."He said in a low voice, and then turned to leave, with an apologetic bow of his head.

She lay on the that would be theirs bed, now, staring up at the ceiling of mirrors that hung over it.

The idea of looking up and seeing yourself as soon as you opened your eyes, was foolish to her. But, it had made him happy. And so, she had let him keep it when they were setting the house up. It would've been their first house together...

I'm sorry... I can't.

Pulling her left hand out of the pocked of her hoodie, she stared at the emerald ring, gleaming in the dim lighting on her finger.

I can't... I can't...

Thirteen years of knowing each other, and he didn't even have the decency to tell her himself? A note, sealed up in his best man's pocket, to be delivered!

I'm sorry...I can't.

She sat up quickly,

"Yeah, well, I can't believe you'd do something like this!" She slipped the ring off of her finger, and hauled it at the far wall. It bounced off of the wall landing with a 'thump' on the floor.

There was a knock on the door.

"Kagome, honey," Her mother's gentle voice came through the door, muffled. "I know you aren't feeling well, sweetie, but you have to eat something."

She thought of all of the pans of would-be reception entrees, that covered the dining room table downstairs. The salmon with light creamy lemon sauce and wild rice, the filet mignon served medium rare, the lobster bisque...

"No, I'm not hungry," she replied hoarsely. She couldn't feel anything but anger and sickness. "I just want to sleep." Kagome curled up on her side, flipping her hoodie up, as she went, and closed her eyes.

For a few beats there was silence, and then the sound of her mother's retreating footsteps down the hall.

Her eyes flew open, and her vision blurred. She had dreamed of nothing but wedding gowns, cakes, floral arrangements, and wedded happiness, for the past year. Now, when she closed her eyes, she imagined someone taking a torch, and lighting all of her dreams on fire. Burning her and all of her hopes alive.

I'm sorry... I can't. I love you, but I can't.

She bit her lip, struggling to hold the tears in.

"I'm sorry, too."

A/N: Oh my god! I'm alive! I feel like such a little kid writing fanfiction, now. It's been a good couple of years! I'm in university, and am writing some things of my own, and with some friends of mine. I could never forget where I really started writing, though. I like this A LOT better than the crap I used to write. It's kind of short (for now) IDK how this is going to go, or if I'll finish it... WE'LL SEE.

Love,

Ms. Sucker For Romance