The stars of the night shone beautifully, almost ironically, a sharp contrast to the dimness in Yeara's heart. The night of the wedding had finally arrived.
She sat on the soft cushioned stool as a lady carefully smoothed the brush on her face, doing her makeup.
Zalthor had still not returned. She had hoped he would come today, given that it was the night of their wedding, yet she had not even seen him. Not once.
Her eyes were closed as they brushed her face slowly yet softly. Her face was already smooth, so the work was not much. She was already wearing her wedding gown.
Yeara's hands rested atop her lap; not once did she move them. The last thing she wanted was squeezing this luxurious fabric and messing it before the wedding. She could not transfer her pain to the gown by tightening it.
'If he is not here, why should the wedding still hold?' Yeara wondered.
