Prompt: Lovely, from 134
The dress stands across from her, as if daring her to put it on, to finally accept the fact that this is all real. This is the final taunt, checking to see if she's brave enough to follow through.
Soon she'll be at a church saying her vows, effectively sealing her fate. Now is not the time to be insecure, but she is. Only a little bit, but still.
The problem is, she's always been cute. But a bride should be gorgeous on her wedding day. And she's afraid that next to her bridesmaids – one stunning, the other beautiful, another pretty – she's afraid that she'll pale next to them. She should brush it aside, mark it as insignificant, but a tiny part of her wants to feel special. She wants to shine.
After staring at the dress for another five minutes, she takes a deep breath and finally moves. Zipping it up carefully so as not to disturb her carefully arranged curls, she lifts her head. She tilts her chin, studying the way the curls piled on her head follow her movements. She feels special, but that's easy to say when you're alone in a room. Will she turn heads as she walks down the aisle? She isn't sure.
But oh, she remembers the way he looked when he proposed. There was a sudden calm to him, nothing like the anxious, jittery boy she knew. And then he'd popped the question, and she'd answered with a resounding yes, because that was what she wanted. What she'd waited for, for months.
It crashes over her like a wave, the enormity of her situation. She's getting married. She should be happy, overjoyed. So why is she so worried about how she'll appear once she enters the church doors? Her wedding dress is ethereal; her bridesmaids helped her pick it out, examining every detail and debating on the other dresses. They finally settled on this one: fairy-like, slightly shimmering at the skirt. It feels like she's been wrapped in sea foam. The silk is smooth on her skin. Everything she dreamed for herself is happening today.
And ironically, the words she wants to hear right now aren't, "I love you" or "I do." No, the only thing she wants is for someone to look at her and gush, "You're gorgeous. You're beautiful."
A light knock sounds on the door behind her. She raises her head, does a final turn, and exhales. "Come in," she calls softly.
A face with bright blue eyes and dark, luscious hair peeps in. Her bridesmaid. But Liz thinks that Macey could pass for the bride, if only her dress was a different color. Macey, however, thinks that Liz looks radiant.
"Liz, you look…" Liz waits, holding her breath, sure that the next word is going to be "pretty." It's always pretty that describes her, or cute.
"You look… lovely."
And suddenly she's sure of herself. Because beautiful may come from the word beauty, but lovely has the word love in it, and it is her wedding day, after all.
