The Wedding Dress
The dress that she wears is of the finest white silk, an import from East Asia. It clings to her shapely body, sliding against her skin in a mesmerising rhythm. The neck line is modest it falls loosely off her tiny shoulders showing a tantalising glimpse of her smooth creamy skin. As she draws closer I have the urge to run my hands from her shoulders, down to caress her shimmering skin, to feel the curve of her heaving bosom, and to feel the smooth and bumpy texture of the glistening silk covered in a thousand glittering beads. I muster every ounce of self-control that I possess… for now I must wait.
She has a beautiful neck, so delicate, and around it dangles a tiny tear drop pendant, the shine of which catches my eye. It was her mother's. A deep blue stone encased in sparkling diamonds, the final evidence of her father's approval. He nods at me from his position at the left of his daughter.
They reach the end of the aisle, he lets go of her arm, a smile at her and then at me. The small children that were carrying her train stop and gaze up in awe as she ascends the alter gliding like an angel. It is as though she is glowing, lighting up the chapel with a soft golden illumination.
She stands before me, a thin lace veil covering her face. I push it back, softly, and the breath catches in my throat for never before had I seen a creature as beautiful as she.
She throws her head back to move the stray tendrils of golden blonde ringlets around the delicate curve of her face, away from her eyes.
Her almond-shaped eyes are like bottomless blue orbs framed by long dark lashes. I find myself drowning in her depths while we hold a silent conversation of anticipation and comfort.
Her cheeks are tinged a rosy pink hue and I reach out my hand to gently cup the side of her face as I run my thumb along her pouting lips. Full and luscious they are a natural dark rose in colour and glisten as they move to form a smile at my touch, creating a gentle curve against my fingertips.
I hear a voice, but it's out of place.
It doesn't belong to the bishop and it snaps me back to a painful reality.
The stabbing pain in my chest turns into a dull ache as I become light headed. To my horror the metallic taste of copper fills my mouth and a warm trickle falls clumsily from my lips and weaves a crimson trail down my chin.
I open my eyes, ending the illusion of comfort. The scaly face of Davy Jones loams over me, and I know, like the thousands of lost souls before me, that what I dream of will never happen.
"Do you fear death?" he rasps, and my fate is sealed.
The roar of the sea crashing against the ship fills my ears, but I swear from a distance I can hear her scream. I can feel her tragic grief for me, like the ghostly memory of her lips against mine.
I told her 'our destinies were entwined, never joined', but in my final moments she fills my mind with our perfect future and I launch my sword up to where the heart of the monster should be.
And then there is nothing.
Just a short James Norrington drabble that came to me one night after watching POTC 3 and listening to 'Vindicated' by Dashboard Confessionals...
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