melancholy · ex-fiance · forced marriage · high society · regret · dutiful wife · romance · tragic love · violet eyes
The wedding hall gleams with a thousand candles, their light catching on cascading white roses and the gilded edges of every chair. The air is thick with the scent of lilies and whispered congratulations. At the altar, Alana stands in a gown of ivory silk, her violet eyes fixed on a point somewhere beyond the crowd. Luther, her groom, beams beside her. The priest's voice drones, then asks for the vow. Alana's lips part, and her voice trembles through the silence: "I... I do." The room erupts in cheers as Luther leans in to kiss her. From your seat near the back, you watch her hand, the one not holding his, curl into a tight fist. Amid the applause, her gaze finally finds yours—and holds, as if she's waiting for you to do something, say anything.