, the church bells ring. The people wait. The dress hangs loose.
Narcissa has lost a few pounds since her last fitting. She was skinny then, what must she look like now? She looks sickly, she knows it. She looks as if she were about to die, the unhealthy look partially concealed by layers and layers of powder and paint and a veil laced with crystals.
She is about to walk down the carpeted aisle and die a beautiful, aesthetic death.
, her feet are hurting. The people stir. Her eyes are glass.
The blue iris stands out against her pale skin. It is striking and lovely. But it isn’t real. She looks like a porcelain doll, or a princess out of a book of fairytales. And her beautiful prince is waiting in the other room.
, the music starts. The doors are open. The people turn.
This is the life she’s dreamed of. Her prince is rich and strong. Her parents are proud.
All of the people stand and look amazed as she walks in, the long folds or her dress trailing gracefully, loyally behind her. She had her stunning smile rehearsed and now, it is perfect.
The world sees her smile, and that is all they see. That is all anyone’s ever wanted to see. The rest doesn’t matter anyway. She will never change…
, she’s halfway there. His smile is strange. The music plays.
She doesn’t like that smile on his face. It scares her slightly. She doesn’t want to look at it anymore.
She wants to see another man where he stands. A man she knew a long time ago… or maybe it was a boy… or maybe he was not at all. Maybe… maybe she wants to run away and find him.
, there’s fog outside. The road is long. Her feet are hurting.
The priest has begun to speak; they stand side by side, somehow solemnly. Her heart is beating so fast. Her body is prepared to run, but her mind has not yet decided.
She wants to run. She won’t care that he will yell, the music will stop, the people will whisper, her parents will shout. She wants to run away, into the fog that hangs over the road toward that someone else she can’t see.
She wants to run…
, the mass is over. She’s in his arms. The fog has lifted.
She didn’t run. She doesn’t know why. She did not run.
The other face has gone missing again.
She tells her self that she has done the right thing. She tells herself, I’ve stopped running away. I’ve stopped running from myself. Is there anyone better to be?
, the baby cries. He walks away. The lights go off.
There had been someone else… but she is gone now. That girl that bolted from the church and disappeared into the fog that hung over that terrifying road, to find the faceless boy.