The Angel Project

Marriage

Gore stretches out before her—the scent of iron assaults her senses. Odilia's brows knit together in her effort to push away the urge to vomit. People flank Odilia's sides, their faces hidden by tunnel vision. In front of her, a man stands behind a wooden altar, arms outstretched to welcome the yellow-orange and red rays of the setting sun. A woman kneels before the altar. Everything moves too fast for Odilia to register. Her eyes flit around the room to see soldiers holding a man back just as holy fire engulfs the woman. Her screams pierce Odilia's eardrums, reverberating through her skull.

Odilia jolts awake, her chest heaving and sweat heavy on her brow. Knocking erupts behind her bedroom door. Her hands rise from the bed to wipe her face, quickly going over her forehead and upper lip. Summoning her cracking voice, she exclaims, "Open!"

"My lady," her lady-in-waiting, Xylia Arleah, pushes the door open. "You've overslept again. Up, up! I will pull you from that bed; don't test me."

Of course, Xylia was bluffing. Although she and Odilia are close in age, Xylia is petite and could barely pull Odilia if she tried. Odilia swings the cover from her body, her feet planted on the floor as she rises from the bed. Xylia goes to the vanity opposite Odilia's bed, heels clicking against the marble flooring while she lectures the princess.

"You know, if I were anyone else in the castle, you'd be hanged," Odilia mocks, following the dryad to sit at the vanity when Xylia's syrupy brown eyes roll in their sockets. Xylia speaks with the hairbrush, wooden arms flailing around, "However shall I thank you, your gracious majesty! Now sit; your hair could have birds moving in any minute. Maybe I'll find a robin when I brush it."

Odilia almost snorts, "Be careful, or we'll have scrambled eggs for breakfast."

"We would if someone didn't sleep through breakfast - now, quiet so I can focus..." Xylia's voice trails off, nimble fingers detangling Odilia's chestnut curls from one another. Odilia stares into the mirror, yet the face that stares at her through the mirror is one that she has grown to dislike. An olive girl with doe eyes gawks at her. Her amber eyes sicken Odilia. She clenches and unclenches her hands to stop herself from plucking them from her sockets. Her long chestnut hair is now tied to her head in an intricate bun. Rosy makeup coats her face, but it feels off, like a pig in makeup.

Banging at the door snaps her out of the criticism of her face; it doesn't take long for her sisters to pile through the mahogany doorframe. Heads of yellow and brown bob through the room as they dote around her. Her wedding day came far too soon. Cotton seems to fill her lungs as she tries to breathe through the sea of people. Her dress is thrown on her, and the bones of the innocent dress stabs into her skin. It would have been a beautiful dress if it had not been forced onto her.

Each seam, each glass bead, and each itchy lace remind her of the wedding she has to have. What is a princess's duty if not to obey her father? To create allegiances greater than she is allowed to know. Odilia recalls sneaking into the library to read books and the feeling of her nurse's ruler on her legs and hands that swiftly came after. Eyes have stared into her soul long before her birth, judging every movement that reflects on her family.

"Odilia? Hullo?" Her sister, Bonne, draws out the "o" as she waves her hand in Odilia's face, "Did you hear anything I just said?"

"Sorry, I was just thinking, what is it?"

"Ugh! You're always thinking! I said we should put glass beads in your hair to match your dress."

Odilia can't even respond before hands begin prodding at her hair, fingers digging spikes into her scalp to the point she swears it is bleeding. Adelaide is the only one standing away from everyone. Her crystal eyes flash with apologies as she watches their sisters. She was married too soon, the first to wed out of the sisters. Adelaide had always said she wanted to be an old maid, but since their father had no sons, it was their responsibility to ensure the crown did not falter.