Vivid | Lee Minho

•Scene 4•

Three weeks had passed since that momentous banquet, and you were now standing before a towering mirror, all but drowning in white.

It was your mother's gown, hastily yet expertly tailored to suit you. An intricate embroidery of pearls adorned the elegant neckline. The skirt shimmered and sparkled with the barest movement, billowing around you, heavier than any you had worn before. A cloud of winking stars.

It was a gown made to make its wearer feel special, but you felt nothing.

This day and this ceremony were only a Déjà vu. A repetition. You had worn numerous other wedding dresses before. Some were just as exquisite, some were far less beautiful, some you could not recall at all, in muddled lifetimes lost to your weary memory.

But to your parents, this day was a first.

"My dear..." Countess Lurmuse wrapped you in her slender arms, careful not to ruin your veil with the tears glistening in her eyes. Her voice was charged with such emotion that it earned a sniffle from your father standing nearby.

You reciprocated the hug to the best of your ability, mindful of the delicate work your handmaidens had been doing all day.

Your poor mother had fussed over you ever since the announcement of your engagement. Three weeks was too little time for preparation, even with all the resources you had, and too sudden. You could only offer apologies for all the work your parents had to do.

When you parted, your mother cupped your cheeks, gazing so softly yet intently at your face as though to memorize it. "Oh, how lovely you are, my darling."

"Now, now," your father stepped forward and placed a pacifying hand on her shoulder. "Our daughter isn't leaving us forever. You can see her anytime you wish, my love."

He spoke as though he had not been discreetly patting his eyes over at the side a few moments ago. You smiled at the two of them. If you were to care about something on this day, it was their happiness.

"I think the ceremony is about to begin," you told them once you caught the sound of the ensemble. "We must leave."

"Yes, yes," your mother sighed, finally letting go to usher you toward the magnificent oak doors that led to the hall. More than a hundred guests were waiting behind those doors. No doubt curious to see the union of the outrageous couple.

Your parents came to flank you, nervously staring at the dark, varnished wood. You heard your father ask, murmuring his concern one last time, "Dear...are you truly sure about this?"

The doors groaned open like an answer of their own, and you shot him your most dazzling grin. "I'm happy, father."

It was no lie, though happiness was not the word you would use to describe the exhilarating emotion you were feeling. Rather, it was success, the taste of freedom.

Across the hall, another set of doors wailed open to reveal the groom in all his polished glory.

He, too, was dressed in white.

Minho's pale suit was embroidered with and etched in gold. A dozen badges and medals embellished the right front of his jacket, while a cape of intense imperial blue draped over his left shoulder. From his hip hung a ceremonial sword, its sapphire studded hilt complementing his attire. His dark hair was parted to the side, left to sweep neatly above one eye.

In his gloved hands, he held a posy of thymes dotted with soft purple blossoms. It was a custom of your kingdom. They represented courage, strength, and fortitude.

In your grasp was the counterpart that symbolized love, peace, and fidelity—a bushy branch from the myrtle tree, white flowers stark against the darkness of its leaves.