//CLARA//
The morning of my wedding felt like an execution.
I didn't move from my bed until the door was practically kicked in.
"Eleanor! Good heavens, child, the sun has been up for hours! Do you intend to enter the cathedral in your nightgown? Have you no sense of occasion?"
Her voice was a sharp crack in the quiet room. She yanked the heavy velvet curtains back, blinding me. I sat up, my body feeling like it was made of lead.
"I'm awake, Aunt Cornelia."
"You are vertical, which is a start," she snapped, gesturing to the maids. "Hattie, the corset. Now! And someone tell the cook that if the bridal breakfast isn't ready in ten minutes, he can find employment at a boarding house."
I was a passenger in my own skin. I stood where they told me to stand, held my breath when the laces bit into my ribs, and let them powder my face until I looked like a porcelain doll destined for a shelf.
