ROSIER

1

White Tulle
...

Tears belong to a wedding as much as the white dress to a bride. Gwen figured it must be the natural reaction, the instinct every bride encountered when facing the mirror in the windowless fitting room.

It was this way every time she watched, seated on a chest at the side of the room, right next to the little pieces of old fabric the house elves used as blankets. Bellatrix cut strands of her hair with the diamonds of the diadem she was forced to wear when she ripped it off in a tempered fit before becoming a Lestrange. The same happened to Lucretia, a distant aunt when she was turned into a Prewett, although back then, Gwen was too young to understand the spell used to soothe the struggle.

Now she watched a single tear roll down Narcissa's cheek when her mother pinned the last strands of fine blonde hair in place.

Narcissa was always a pretty crier. Her blue eyes appeared like portals into the ocean. The captivating dress only amplified the scene as though copied right from a tragedy.

"You look absolutely marvellous, my dear," Druella spoke with her smoky voice. Her hair had lost its light colour over the years, but still, her features were youthful and in some angles, almost the same as her daughter's.
"You will make a pretty wife for Malfoy."

Gwen bit her tongue. A pretty wife, as if her cousin wasn't so much more than this. A brilliant witch with a remarkable talent for words and a way of creating magic on a blank canvas with a paintbrush as her wand.
But of course, she couldn't say this. Not without causing unwanted attention. So instead, she gifted her most comforting smile to the reflection in the mirror and hoped the veil would only have to cover her features, not her emotions.

"Gwendolyn, where is Pandora? She was supposed to be here ten minutes ago," Druella complained, angrily glaring at the clock.

"No idea," Gwen shrugged.

"This girl is going to steal my last nerve." The woman muttered, reassuring her daughter to be right back before taking on the search for the chosen flower girl.

The door closed with a loud crack, and it seemed the two girls took a breath for the first time since this morning.

"Where is she really?" Narcissa asked with the hint of a smile.

"In the gardens," Gwen laughed, breaking the spell on Druella's purse to steal back her confiscated cigarettes. "She said the flowers were full of Nargles, so she wanted to get new ones."

"Hopefully, the dress isn't getting dirty. Mother would go into a cardiac arrest, I fear."

"It sure would make the day memorable," She hid the cigarettes in the cleavage of her violet bridesmaid's dress. If there was a window, she might've risked a smoke for the sake of rebellion.

"Oh, and the fact that I'm getting married isn't memorable?" Narcissa exclaimed. She changed the pair of earrings her mother had picked to the ones she liked (in hopes Druella wouldn't notice).

Gwen took a moment to look at her cousin. The tear left the smallest streak behind, easily to be hidden by a small amount of powder.

"Do you want to marry him?" The words left her mouth before she could stop herself.

"What?"

"Do you love him?"

"That's not important," Narcissa hissed, powdering her cheeks and nose. "Lucius is the best option. Close in age and tolerable even when we have our differences. He will make a good husband, and I will make a great wife."

"Is that enough for you?" Gwen questioned, taking her cousin's hands in hers. "Being a wife, I mean. What if he isn't tolerable? What if you wake up tomorrow and nothing is the way they always describe it?" Or worse, she thought, what if it was exactly how they always described it?