There is one consolation, if you can call it that. There's to be a ceremony, in which I can watch you dedicate yourself to the new life you've chosen. Your mother's letter tells me that technically you were only supposed to invite family, but that you wanted me to go too. I'm not sure whether to be flattered or insulted that you think of me as part of your family. You told me, once, that you loved me "more than anyone on earth." There's the rub. You love me more than anyone on earth. I've never been able to understand why you were able to give up this so-called 'love' for the love of that God you talk about so much. Why the sacrifice, Scully? Why?
Another thing I noticed in your mother's letter was that there was some sort of problem with your outfit – apparently you were to wear the whole bridal get-up. When I called her to ask what the problem was, she said that her veil had been torn beyond repair years before – and that therefore you had no veil for your ceremony. Like the sucker I am for pain, I told your mother that I would buy you a veil. And I did – I found the most beautiful one I could, despite the cost, and sent it to you with one of your holy pictures in the box. "The Spirit is the Truth, God go with you" I wrote on it, recalling at the time the circumstances under which that scripture quote was used before, years ago …
I can't believe it - the ceremony day is here! No matter what else I'm supposed to be doing (I'm sure there's something), it will snow in hell before I let Skinner screw this up for me, the last time I would ever see you. And there you were. Dressed in your mother's bridal gown and the veil I found that showed off the glory of your Titian hair, you looked utterly radiant as you walked toward the altar, and so, so beautiful. Unable to stop myself thinking of other reasons I would have wanted you in a wedding-dress inside a church, and totally unable to keep my eyes off you, I watched and listened with only half a brain as you gave both our lives away to God. The pain – my God, the pain! The pain when you had left me had been bad enough, but this was worse, far worse, even though you had told me that they were only temporary vows, and if at any time in the following three years you were unhappy, you could come home.
I had always thought that the search for my sister had never meant the same to you as it had done to me. In this, as in so much else in our lives together, you proved me wrong. Again.
When you was asked by which name you would be known by in religion, the name surprised me – and then again, it didn't …
"Sister Anne."
Oh, Scully.
Another thing I noticed in your mother's letter was that there was some sort of problem with your outfit – apparently you were to wear the whole bridal get-up. When I called her to ask what the problem was, she said that her veil had been torn beyond repair years before – and that therefore you had no veil for your ceremony. Like the sucker I am for pain, I told your mother that I would buy you a veil. And I did – I found the most beautiful one I could, despite the cost, and sent it to you with one of your holy pictures in the box. "The Spirit is the Truth, God go with you" I wrote on it, recalling at the time the circumstances under which that scripture quote was used before, years ago …
I can't believe it - the ceremony day is here! No matter what else I'm supposed to be doing (I'm sure there's something), it will snow in hell before I let Skinner screw this up for me, the last time I would ever see you. And there you were. Dressed in your mother's bridal gown and the veil I found that showed off the glory of your Titian hair, you looked utterly radiant as you walked toward the altar, and so, so beautiful. Unable to stop myself thinking of other reasons I would have wanted you in a wedding-dress inside a church, and totally unable to keep my eyes off you, I watched and listened with only half a brain as you gave both our lives away to God. The pain – my God, the pain! The pain when you had left me had been bad enough, but this was worse, far worse, even though you had told me that they were only temporary vows, and if at any time in the following three years you were unhappy, you could come home.
I had always thought that the search for my sister had never meant the same to you as it had done to me. In this, as in so much else in our lives together, you proved me wrong. Again.
When you was asked by which name you would be known by in religion, the name surprised me – and then again, it didn't …
"Sister Anne."
Oh, Scully.