A ring on her finger, a husband by her side.She's had finally completed the purpose of her life .It was supposed to be smooth sailing henceforth ;all summer luncheons in the veranda beneath the Charlestonian sky;but it was all gray.He was supposed to love her , cherish her, but he didn't.Not from a lack of trying;he lavished her with kindness and charity.That very kindness ; his aimless pity ached like an old wound refusing to close . She detested it , loathed it with every fibre of her being .His heart still rested with the other woman and how could she blame him for that.Beauty ,passion , fire all divinely combined to form Scarlett o 'hara. While she Anne was grey like the poor ash fire left behind in it's wake.How could the humble pigeon ever compare to the glorious phoenix.Whose very cry brought out passion in the mousiest of men .She had never hated anyone in her life before; but she hated her with the burning heat of a thousand embers.
Stubborn ,ugly and refusing to go out. Worst of all she had known of their great passion , their endless fights and had coveted it for herself.Their wedding had been the happiest day of her life , she should have prayed for the sun to never set that day.All the days after that had been gray .Monotonous and opaque.