x. Years
She's waited so long for this moment. Swathed in white tulle, like an angel. Her blonde hair is done up, and curled, and her dress practically drips off of her, it melds to her skin so well. Her bouquet is made up of roses, carnations. It's simple. Because they're simple. She's trying not to cry when she loops her arm with her daddy's. Somehow, they manage to shuffle over to the door. She pauses as the large wooden doors begin to open. She hears a slight whoosh as people collectively stand, and the organ begins to play. And he's there.