Sybil gazed, completely neutral and unmoved by her reflection. Though her hair had been tied gracefully on her head, though her face held the innocence of beauty and refinement, the fact that her whole body glowed and shone with an aura likened to angels, she felt nothing of the sort. She dare not look herself in the eye and instead traced a look around the room, noticing the lack of people; important people. She wouldn't go accompanied. She refused. If it wasn't him, then it was no-one. She within moments of making that decision turned a deliberate stab of pain from a father into a tradition. Her Uncle Matthew said that he would do it.

"Never," she replied, turning her back on him.

She tied up her own dress. Her selected cousins and friends helped her but with that she was adamant. Her Auntie Mary and Edith and both her grandmothers offered to do it for her.

"Never," she replied, turning her back on them.

She had already cried once; the memory of her cousin Patricia seething as once again her make up was ruined was not one that she wanted to relive. She wouldn't do it again. She couldn't. She bit her lip, fighting them away. She could see the redness in her eyes reappearing, the stark pain so visible to all. The wounds were once again open. The air in the room suddenly became thick, suffocating her. She choked on her own closed up throat and spluttered. The necklace around her neck pulled her down, the weight of her burdens and dread making her shoulders strain.

"Oh no, please don't start again. It's almost time!" Sinead whined. She didn't notice her enter the room until her soft voice was heard. It always puzzled her how Sinead could have such a soft but with a heavy accent.

"Start what again?" she answered, her voice coming out in a whisper. She felt the strange wet sensation trickling down her cheek. She looked up. She thought the roof was leaking. It was an old house.

"Crying,"

Oh, she thought.

The door closed.

She shook away the tears, closing her eyes tightly. Behind her lid she could see their faces. Young, beautiful and completely before their time. Opening her eyes again, she could see them in the mirror. Her father to her left and her mother to her right. They both smiled, he father nodding slightly in approval. They looked the same, just like a photograph. Her father wasn't as old as she remembered. He looked…so young. And she, her mother looked barely older than herself.

"Hello," she whispered.

They said nothing, just their smiles grew and her mothers hand appeared upon her shoulder. The weight was lighter than air. She sighed, her shoulder hunching downward and her head shaking slightly.

"I know that you can hear me. I just have one thing to ask. Why me? What did I ever do?"

They looked sad. Neither of them met her distraught eyes. They looked between one another, her mother shaking her head slightly. She didn't understand.

She groaned, turning away from them. Anger heated her.

"Are you punishing me? Is that it God? Is this some kind of twisted punishment? Then why make them pay for it?!" she screamed out to the heavens, ripping the floating lace from within her hair and throwing it to the floor.

The tears flowed freely; no-one could stop her in her rampage. She turned back to the mirror. They were still there.

Her mother had her arm outstretched, ready to comfort.

Her father frowned in concern.

"It's not fair! All I wanted was…and you didn't even let me have that! You took him from me, Ma! And now I'm all alone!"

She crumpled to the floor, letting sadness take over. The façade of her china doll appearance ran down her cheeks. The many scars and wounds revealed themselves, yet none of them marred her skin. One cut here from loosing her mother. One cut there from being torn from her father. She was a fragile creature; scratch away the surface and there laid the cracks.

How she was glad for her Gran. She taught her the importance of this show, this mask. It gave her the strength to carry on, and though she didn't need it for the season like her aunts and mother did, it was incredibly useful for events like this.

Her mother shook her head, taking one step forward. Her father stopped her, enfolding her in his arms. She cried.

Turning back to the mirror, she noticed her father crouched down beside her. Her mother had a hand upon his shoulder.

They said nothing but the message got across. She could ear the distant whispers of the people arriving. Among it hung a familiar tone,

"It's not hers or your fault," he whispered. "You're never alone. Good luck,"

"Da-?"

The door opened behind her and Mary entered, coming to collect her.

"Sybil? Oh my darling!"

She gasped turning to the mirror could her aunt see them? Of course not. They weren't real. The only thing that gazed back was the wildness that was her blue eyes. She felt arms surround her, scooping her up from the floor and back down again up in a chair. She preferred the floor. It was where they sat by the fire.

"People are getting quite anxious now and he's here…so I think its time to begin."

Mary took out a crisp handkerchief, wiping away the small streaks that displayed her tears. Mary could see the pure grief that circled her niece. She had seen that face once before. It was upon her sister. The night that she delayed them their happiness. She and Edith drove her back in the moonlight, the silence piercing the air with a hatred that would leave until the day her sister, finally and deservedly, married.

The resemblance between them was just uncanny.

She pulled up her niece, fixing the delicate material back in place before leading her out of the room. Her long dress dragged behind her, revealing two white feathers stood side by side.

Walking down the small corridor, her hand in her aunts, they came across the main party, all of them anxious. The murmurs could be heard and the familiar twang melted her heart.

"Ahh!" her uncle Matthew exulted, breaking her away from her thoughts. "There you are, now are you completely sure. You're only going to do this once and I just want to be sure that you're doing it right,"

She huffed, glaring at him.

"No," she replied. "I told you before Uncle. If its not him, it's no one."

He nodded, kissing her on the cheek.

The party left her stood on the threshold, taking their seats. She checked herself, making sure that she was appropriate enough to be seen. She checked the bouquet in her hands. She gasped.

There stood, in among the flowers, were two more feathers. She stroked them, both soft gentle and kind to her skin.

The music began and the doors opened. An exhilarated smile plastered upon her face as she walked down the aisle, her Jonathan waiting for her at the other end. To the guests she was alone but she knew and her family knew that they were right beside her. A warm breeze brushed past her hand as she reached him. There it was. There was their blessing.

"Dearly beloved…" the priest spoke. Sybil smiled.

Everyone was at her wedding.