Scribbles

No.50

She stood there in silence, letting the pain sink in. My little sister, on her wedding day.

Is it possible for someone else's wedding to be the happiest day of my life, even if it isn't for the bride?

My sister looked amazing, her auburn hair was up in perfect curls, forming a braid into a bun at the back of her head. A few curls fell freely, framing her beautiful face. Embedded in her hair was our grandmother's tiara. It sparkled with blue sapphires, some of them surrounded elegantly with diamonds. As a young girl, whenever my sister saw it in Gram's cabinet, she always used to say it was dancing among the stars.

Something old and something blue.

My sister was a picture, the purest picture of the utmost splendour standing next to our father who was seated next to the roaring fire. The orange flames cast a subtle luminosity on my sister's face. Her smooth skin shimmered in the dim fire light. She was going with the vintage look in her pre-wedding photos. All of the ones involving us getting ready had been taken in black and white. She used to say that she was born in the wrong era.

Her leaf green eyes were gleaming, long black eyelashes fluttering. Rosie cheeked and smiling perfection. My little sister on her wedding day: stranded at the altar.

She stood there in silence, letting the pain sink in. My little sister stood there motionless, staring into the black abyss that was now her life. I looked on from a corner smiling sweetly to myself. I noticed a single glimmering tear slide down her cheek, vanishing into the unknown. I slipped away un-noticed. I slipped away un-noticed into the arms of the one who left her.

The events leading up to my sister's wedding go farther back than even she knew. For the one she was betrothed to, well, he was once mine. For ten years of my life he lived in my arms. He slept in my bed. He sat at my table and dined with me. Then one day, she was his. I cried magic was at play but my father would hear none of it. He would never hear anything against his precious baby girl.

Mother knew better. Our mother practised magic so of course she did. She taught me and my sister all we know. And I know that he only fled into her arms because she used magic against me. My sister used magic against her own blood and for that she must pay. I need not use the craft to get what I want. He loved me once and shall again. For weeks I have been having him remember, remember the life we had before her, the bliss. It has been coming back slowly, and every day he would look at me with a new amount of love in his eyes for me but less for her.

She never knew a thing.

Mother isn't at the wedding today. She found out about what my sister had done to me, so she cursed her, however, mother underestimated my sister's power, we both did. The curse recalled, forced by my sister's hand to inhabit its owner. I watched my mother go crazy and take her own life. All at my sister's doing.

To see my sister staring into the void, not knowing what she sees is of great pleasure to me. Finally, she is getting what she deserves. The world is paying her back for her misuse of the craft, of our craft that our mother taught us. Only I can see the void she is looking into and it is very real. It is taking her soul. My sister will die of heartbreak. I watched my mother die; I look on from afar as my sister does the same. The arms of the man who left her wrapped tightly around my waist. He wishes to see this as much as I.

My little sister on her wedding day: dying.

In a second she will collapse; everyone will rush to her aid. My father will cry out for help. He will look around frantically and spot me, stood in the corner with the man she was meant to marry and call out for the magical help only I can give her. Instead, I will take my lovers hand and walk away from her and magic.

She stole him from me, so I'm just stealing him back.