Ashes of Thornwood

Chapter 4

The soft rustle of silk filled the room as two servants worked quietly behind me, their fingers deftly pulling the laces of my wedding dress tighter and tighter with each pass. I stood motionless, my arms slightly outstretched to balance myself as the bodice of the dress constricted around my ribs. The dress was undeniably beautiful, but as the fabric cinched tighter, it felt like I was being bound into a role that wasn't mine—a stranger's gown for a life I wasn't sure I wanted.

Mrs. Thorne stood off to the side, her sharp eyes fixed on every detail, every fold of fabric. "If only I had more time," she sighed dramatically, her voice dripping with a mixture of disdain and disappointment. "I could have made some proper alterations. This dress... well, it's barely adequate as it is."

The servants exchanged nervous glances, their hands stilling momentarily before resuming their work. I bit my lip, staring straight ahead at the reflection in the mirror. The woman looking back at me seemed calm, composed, but inside, I felt a churning unease—a sense that everything was moving too quickly, spiraling out of my control.

"And to think," Mrs. Thorne continued, her voice cutting through my thoughts like a knife, "that seamstress had to work all night just to get it to this point. The expense was considerable, of course, but what choice did I have? One must make do with the time given, even if it means tolerating... imperfections."

Her words felt like small, sharp pricks against my skin, but I forced myself to remain silent. What could I say? I had no family here to defend me, no familiar faces to offer comfort or reassurance. It was just Mrs. Thorne, the servants, and me—alone in this grand, oppressive house, preparing for a wedding that felt more like a sentence than a celebration.

The servants finally finished lacing up the dress, and one of them handed me the veil—a delicate, lace-edged piece of fabric that seemed almost too fragile to touch. I placed it over my hair, arranging it carefully so it framed my face just so. In the mirror, I saw Mrs. Thorne nodding approvingly, her lips pressed into a thin line.

"Well," she said, stepping closer to inspect me one last time, "it will have to do. Let's not keep the guests waiting."

The small chapel was a serene, almost sacred place, its wooden pews polished to a soft sheen, and the faint scent of old wood and candle wax filling the air. Sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows, casting colorful patterns on the stone floor, and I found myself momentarily mesmerized by the play of light and shadow. The simplicity of the chapel was in stark contrast to the grandeur of Thornewood, and I couldn't help but feel a pang of longing for something I couldn't quite name—something that had been lost in the transition from my old life to this new one.

As I stood at the entrance, the heavy doors of the chapel creaked open, allowing a soft breeze to carry in the scent of the fields beyond. I took a deep breath, trying to calm the fluttering in my chest. The weight of the moment pressed down on me, my heart beating a steady rhythm of anxiety. This was the day I would become Mrs. Sebastian Thorne, and yet, as I looked down the aisle at the small gathering of guests, all I could think about was the empty space beside me where my family should have been.

Lottie would have been adjusting my veil, her hands gentle and reassuring. Mother would have been fussing over every last detail, her nerves showing in the way she smoothed out the wrinkles in her dress. And Father... Father would have been standing proudly beside me, his arm linked with mine as he prepared to walk me down the aisle. But they weren't here. They were miles away, back in Iowa, unaware of the hollow ache in my chest, the sense of loss that clouded what should have been a joyful occasion.

The music started, a gentle melody played on the old organ by a local musician Mrs. Thorne had insisted upon. The notes filled the chapel, echoing softly off the stone walls, and the guests rose to their feet, turning to face me. My breath caught in my throat, and for a moment, I couldn't move, my feet rooted to the spot as the reality of what was about to happen washed over me.