Muse [h.s.]

epilogue i

🎵As Long As You Follow — Fleetwood Mac
🎵Starry Eyes — Cigarettes after Sex
🎵Flightless Bird, American Mouth — Iron & Wine

Ella's POV
one year later

"Ella, would you please get away from the liquor?" Lydia sighs, shaking her head as she calls from across the room. "We don't need you drunk before you walk down the fucking aisle! God knows you'll probably sprain a freaking ankle, knowing you.."

My hand is wrapped around the bottle of Jack Daniels, as I tilt the whiskey upwards and raise it to my mouth. The taste actually does settle me — only a bit, though.

My heart is still hammering in my chest, so hard that I fear I'll go into cardiac arrest here and now, before I even make it down the aisle.

"Fucking hell," Lydia mumbles, rushing over to me. "Now you've fucked up your lipstick, come here."

She reaches over, twisting the tube of lipstick in her hands before she applies it to my lips carefully. She then snatches the bottle of whiskey out from my hands.

"Hey!"

"No more of that," Lydia says, shaking her head as she places it on the other side of the room.

"It was one sip!" I complain, but Lydia only rolls her eyes.

"Yeah, well, you can drink all the whiskey you want after you get married," she scolds. "Where'd you even get this from, anyways?"

I roll my eyes, but I don't even have the energy to fire something back at Lydia as she walks back over to me; I'm too nervous. The intruding thoughts are flipping over and over, whirling through my mind.

"Lyds, what if he isn't there waiting for me? What if he's gotten cold feet? What if—ouch!"

Lydia cuts my rambling off when she suddenly pinches my arm, causing me to yank my arm back from her touch. "What the hell was that for?!"

"You're being ridiculous," Lydia says with a roll of her eyes this time, grabbing my hand as she leads me towards the mirror.

I finally catch sight of my reflection — I don't recognize myself at all.

My hair is in a loose bun at the nape of my neck, tendrils of curls hanging loosely to frame my face. Lydia's done my makeup so elegantly, such a contrast to how I'm used to seeing my face done up.

I slide my hands down my beautiful wedding dress, the material soft against my palms. Its long sleeves are made of lace, the material clinging to my body in the prettiest way, with a neckline that reaches across my shoulders, allowing skin to show.

"Look at yourself," Lydia says softly, standing behind me as we watch my reflection. "You're fucking stunning, Ella. Breathe — Harry's been waiting for this day as long as we all could remember. You know by now Harry would travel the ends of this earth for you, he's already done that. There's no way in hell that man has cold feet for you!"

Lydia's words calm me, playing over and over in my head as she helps situate my veil atop my head.

I know she's right; Harry couldn't have possibly have gotten cold feet; all the jitters and nerves are getting to me. As Lydia helps me, I allow my mind to drift off to memories of just last night.

A soft, incessant tapping against the window beside my bed caused me to dart up, already awake from being restless.

My heart pounded in my chest with the sudden sound — maybe I was being delusional. Maybe I was that nervous that I was making up sounds in my head, maybe—