Tragedies - A backstory

❤An Exchanging Of Words❤

*So this book is using the bride in the IWSNT video as a main character and sort of explaining her backstory and what led up to the wedding. This book does not involve any members of the band, just the actual characters from the music video. Credit to Panic! and their director for the video!*

"Marie! You must not scrunch up your lips like that, you'll smudge that lipstick! It's the best you have, and I'm not having you waste it!" My mother hissed into my ear.  I winced. Pursing my lips was a bored habit that she, like many of my habits, did not approve of. 

I watched, almost bored to tears, as my older sister, Anne, babbled on about her "love" for the suitor my Mother had chosen for her. At a wedding, you expect happy tears and face-cracking smiles. Thoughts about the glorious future. What I saw in Anne's face as she recited her vows like lines in a play was not passion, or joy, or even sadness at what she was leaving behind. It was greed. She knew all too well that she'd spend the rest of her life comfortable and respected, living off this Mister Barrymore's wealth like a leech. Smart girl.

I wriggled in the stiff wooden pew, growing increasingly bored. My mother had planned this wedding, and she was always one for empty words. I pulled a Bible from the back of the pew and flipped through it, rereading some of my favorite verses and trying to find a parable for patience. Finally, when I was halfway through one of David's psalms, everyone in the church stood and began chattering like parrots. I heard snippets of conversation about the weather and even a few uses of "She doesn't deserve him!" At which I rolled my eyes. They most definitely deserved eachother. I could see it in the way Barrymore's stiff features showed the slightest amount of triumph. He was a widower, and his three former wives had been some of the prettiest girls in town. My sister was no exception; Her auburn hair swept over her shoulder, perfectly framing her porcelain features and golden-brown eyes. Her full lips were painted with my mother's best rouge, creating a stark contrast to the snow-white silk wedding dress that Barrymore's extremely rich parents had paid for. His father was actually a pretty alright man, which was a mercy.

On the steps leading to the altar, Anne and Barrymore were striking up small talk as the crowd dispersed. He leaned in to kiss her, but she turned her head at the last second and pressed her lips briefly to his cheek, then said a rushed goodbye and stepped down toward mother and I. Barrymore looked indignant and seemed about to say something after her, but thought better of it and strode back to his own family. 

Anne reached us with a smug smile playing on her lips. Mother screeched about how proud she was for exactly thirty seconds, then promptly left to chat up some of the upper- class citizens and nobles, trying to gain favor and maybe a little more pocket money for the useless luxuries she enjoyed buying. We had plenty enough money, but, in my mother's words, there's no such thing as too much. As soon as she was engaging conversation with a small woman in a plum coat, Anne linked arms with me. "It'll be your turn soon, Marie. Too bad it won't be that Orion boy at the altar with you. Maybe it would be a possibility, if he wasn't barking mad and dirt-poor." She let out a cruel laugh, " Then again, I doubt you'd still be so obviously infatuated with him if that was the case, you've always had a taste for the insane." 

I ripped my arm from her grasp and stalked out the massive church doors. Anne called after me in an "oh-you-poor-naive-child" sort of tone, "Dearest Marie, when will you learn that in marriage, theatrics matter more than love?" I didn't look back at her. She had found out about my schoolgirl crush on Orion Spade, an artist from my old school who sold his work at the market. Of course she knew he'd never notice me, which was why she liked to joke about it. Anne's  sense of humor was getting my hopes up, only to smash them and watch me cry. It made her aware of the power she possessed. My mother had never been funny, which was strange, because she'd been married to my dad for thirty years, and I remembered him as being one of the funniest people I knew. He had been a boat captain, and was killed when his ship, The White Rose was looted by robbers and blown up five years ago. Anne and I had been devestated, but my mother had seemed calm enough. At first I had thought she was just shallow and married my dad for his posh salary, but that had changed when my dog since age five, Nina, had been killed in a fight with a raccoon and we'd found her the next day. Then I learned that sometimes, a person can be too shocked and torn for tears. 

After the wedding, I found a bench and sat in the courtyard behind the church for an hour, stumbling through a small paperback copy of "Epic Poems From The French," which I kept in the shoved down the heel of my long boot everywhere I went. Weird, I know, but it happens when your mother and sister are dedicated social climbers who insist on speaking to every important-looking person they come across. In my school, French had been taught as a mandatory language. I was nineteen now, and I'd kept practicing after I'd graduated two years ago.

"Va être honnête, je viens de mettre ce à travers un site de traduction," I softly read aloud. I was deep into a poem about the fantastical hallucinations given to people by wizards hundreds of years ago. I was focused, but not focused enough to miss the shadow that fell over me. I peered up in ill-hidden annoyance. I thought I'd found an adequate hiding place from anyone obnoxious.

I found myself looking into the dark-rimmed black eyes of a man looking down at my book, apparently reading it upside down. He was wearing a completely scarlet suit and a glossy black top hat. I wondered briefly how many weird looks his outfit had attracted from the guests at the wedding. He met my eye after a minute, as if he hadn't expected me to notice him. "French?" 

 " Can I help you? " I asked, rapidly dragging my hands across my face to wipe away the tears that remained from Anne's poison tongue.

 He smirked and adjusted his hat. "It depends. If you're anything like the plastic loud-mouths at that wedding, then no. But I'm not sure any of those people would ever be caught dead reading centuries-old French epics."

 I chuckled a little. "You're right there. Did they bore you to death with their small talk or did the girls' fluttering eyelashes make you dizzy?" 

 "Both. Mind if I sit?" 

A/N(I see a lot of Wattpad authors do this so what the heck)- Hey to the maximum 10 people that'll see this, and thank you so much for reading. I know it's getting off to a slow start, I'm trying to make this story as elaborate as possible. It's hard to justify the bride in the video, so I'm aiming to make her someone people can like. I started this book a while ago, but this is a rewrite because I didn't like it the first time. Also, Trench.