Kala waited behind a curtain in a borrowed dress. White against her skin, Mrs. Coplin's wedding dress provided a sharp contrast against her darker features. The dress fit well after a few alterations; apparently Mrs. Coplin had been slender in her youth. Despite the fit though, Kala was incredibly uncomfortable. Impatiently she picked at the fabric, a white lace, wearing it was going against everything she stood for.
Sour notes on a fiddle caused acid to rise in her stomach. Louise was talentless compared to any elvish musician. The songs that should have played at her simple ceremony had notes too fast for the clumsy fingers of a human. As Louise missed another note, her father opened the curtain to bring her to her groom. Only this made any sense, the father giving away his daughter.
"You look lovely," he said.
"I look like a human." Even her hair had been styled unusually. The ringlets had been tied up, leaving only a few strands covering her ears. Mrs. Coplin would have put those up too, had Kala not pitched a fit. Her father said nothing, but both the set of his shoulders and the set of his brow warned her that arguing was not permitted. He gripped her arm, perhaps a little too tightly, and led her from her seclusion.
During the day, she had helped rearrange the room so there was a short central aisle leading to an open area by the hearth. She'd helped Amelia and Mrs. Coplin clean while her father watched like a hawk, while Louise practiced slaughtering the wedding march, while Peter was about town. Now, up that aisle her father limped with her in tow, every squeak causing her to cringe. She felt increasingly faint as she approached Peter, and she thanked the first fathers that their ideal of beauty did not include perspiration.
A short eternity later, she stood across from Peter as a wrinkled human in an outrageously ornate hat started to drone in a language she didn't understand. Judging by the glazing eyes of the guests, no one else did either. Peter's eyes were wide, and where he clasped her hands, she could feel the sweat from his palms. Tempted to sneer at the grossness, she unthinkingly squeezed his hands encouragingly. She was rewarded with a nervous smile. She watched Peter swallow, and the priest continued his sermon.
Wildflowers from Peter's cousin Alice made up her bouquet. As the ceremony continued, she became increasingly grateful for them. She fingered their stems and inhaled their fragrance, never looking away from Peter. The audience made her anxiety increase, but the boy looked like he was about to fall over. He would never live down such an embarrassment. If he did, it would be a story she'd be hearing about for the rest of her life.
The priest's shift into English caught Kala by surprise. Peter was drawing closer, her heart rate jumped as his darting brown eyes filled her vision. They were the only thing she could see, filled with concentration and purpose. At the last moment before the kiss he turned his head slightly, touched her cheeks with feather light lips, and pulled away. The next moment, a wooden ring was slipped onto her finger. Onto the third finger on the left hand which, to humans represented marriage. To Kala it was merely a visual reminder that she was shackled to the human world forever.