Prompt: A picture of a white, medieval-esque gown. I'd link it here, but whenever I try to do that it just fails. Lame. So, I might put a blog, or something, together where I can post the photo prompts. Meh, we'll see.

Timeframe: Post New Moon AU

Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended. The Twilight Saga and all characters, recognizable settings, etc. involved within are the property of Stephenie Meyer.

Rating: T

A/N: My lady love duskri123 is in this ship with me. Check out her side of the prompts (Shots of Life) and really all of her stories. While you're at it, take a look into the wild-side that is juliangelus' Tiger Stripes. She patiently supplies our prompts and doesn't snap when we say "gimme!". She's pretty awesome like that, my Boo.

White Wedding

It hadn't taken him very long. Well, I suppose five years is long for some, but not for our kind. For us, it's akin to the blink of an eye. Not that I expected him to mourn our love or my loss. I wanted him to move on. I wanted him to be happy.

But the fact that it seemed so easy for him to move on, to love, hurt. It hurt so much.

That is was so easy to cast me aside...again. That is was so easy to let me go…again.

Granted, I didn't know that. I didn't actually knowthat it had been easy for him, easy for them. I didn't really know that, but that's how it seemed sometimes. And sometimes what is logical is pushed to the wayside where what is emotion is concerned.

So no, I didn't know what it had been like for him, or them. I didn't know the details of their lives or their thoughts or their dreams, regrets, and feelings. How could I? I'd had no contact with the Cullens since Edward and Alice left Volterra.

But this, this I heard about. I don't think anyone hadn't heard about it.

As I quietly moved about the castle and travelled on my assigned 'duties', I picked up little details here and there. I planned and I begged for permission to attend and swore that I would be a good girl. I promised to behave, to take care of myself, and not to allow anyone to know that I was there. My sire. He didn't want me to go; he worried for me, for my fragile heart. But I needed too. I needed to see it. I didn't understand why, only that I had to be there.

And now I'm here. Hidden in the trees, tucked away in a perch in the lush Alaskan wilderness that is the Denali National Park and Preserve. Expanding and tightening my shields around me so that not even my scent will escape—not that they would know what I smelled like any longer, but I couldn't, wouldn't risk anything.

I don't know why I'm here. I don't know what I expect to find, or how on earth this will help me. But I needed to be here. Some instinct, some unknown force...I don't know who or what or why, but I had to be here. So I came.

And I watch and listen.

And I ache.

I watch the large, ornate affair play out in front of me. It's themed, renaissance I think. There are beautiful, colorful masks and large, hooped, satin gowns with plunging necklines and embellished corsets. There are breeches, stockings, velvet doublets, and I think I see nobleman court boots. I can't quite see that far away, but Marcus owns a pair—they're beautiful and ornate.

I watch them exchange their vows and kiss and caress and love and just bask in each other. I don't think I've ever been held like that, revered and cherished like that. I don't know why denied himself for so long, or even how he denied himself really, but I know that if I was blessed enough to find a love like that, there is nothing I wouldn't do to keep it. I'd cherish it and praise all of the Gods and deities for gifting it to me. And I'd guard it, fiercely, savagely like some starved junkyard dog.

I watch as family and friends wish them well and heap them with blessings. Emmett twirls Rosalie, crimson skirts and long, blonde, perfectly curled hair fans around them. It's beautiful really, not just the grace in which they move and touch, but it's more the love and passion that Emmett and Rosalie have for one another that is so beautiful. So special and sacred.

I'm dying inside. I want to run, I want to flee, I want someone to drag me away. But I can't, I'm rooted, transfixed.

And I see him, really and truly see him, my once and only love. She caresses and strokes him and glows under his care. Her full and ornate, white silk gown billows around her, and I can't but wonder if I'm the only person there that finds it just a little ironic that a 1,000 year old succubus is wearing white to her wedding.

They dance and sway and he holds her so closely. And it hurts, it hurt so much, it hurts so badly, and I'm screaming inside.

I watch, frozen in my morbid fascination, as he kisses her. Softly, sweetly. Passionately. I can tell by the tilt of his head and the movement of his jaw that he's opening his mouth and the kiss becomes deeper, more erotic.

I've never been kissed that way.

And I realize that I never will.

Not if I stay here.

Not if I don't move.

Not if I don't set myself free.