The brush, light in her fingers, dips quickly against the powder, before it finds its way to the bride's cheeks, brushing gently against the soft skin. once, twice, thrice in practiced motions- yet the hand holding the brush trembles ever so slightly. The bride closes her eyes, her lips settling in a soft, warm smile- the girl doing her makeup brushes a lock of her hair from her face gently. The only sound between them are soft breaths- not a word needs to be said.
The brush makes a space for itself on the table in favour of the lipstick, tinted in one of the bride's favourite shades and moving to caress her lips softly. Even in the bright and unforgiving light of the dressing room, she was a sight to behold. The veil falls softly over her face, covering it, yet not blocking the visible glow of her cheeks.
What kind of words can you use to describe sunlight in a person?
The lipstick is placed on the table with a soft clicking sound, and the bride opens her eyes as her hand is taken and she's helped from her chair. The corners of her dress find their home against her ankles, her heels clicking softly against the ground. She looks at herself in the mirror. White veil, white dress- she almost resembles an angel in that way. She places her hands to her chest, one gripping the other softly.
Then, she turns and asks the girl standing behind her, the other’s dark hair barely visible in the side of the mirror-
"Do I look pretty?"
It's a simple line of dialogue, really- one that could be answered simply with a word or two. But how could someone fit the warmth of the sun, the light in her eyes, her softness, patience and unadulterated kindness into one simple word? Her lips are simply not meant to convey anything but coldness.
There are so many things I want to tell you if we get out of here.
When.
Instead, the girl settles for a simple curt 'yes', and the bride can only smile knowingly, stroking her hair affectionately. It was strange, that in that moment, her hands that had always been so warm felt like ice against her head. And she smiles, lifting the back of the bride's veil slowly, for all she can do for her now is send her off.
The two step out onto the aisle of a church. Another look makes it seem almost desolate, the wooden seats all empty. All the candles seem to have been last blown out decades ago, the only light being two large windows beside the altar, overgrown with roses and other weeds. And yet the bride still smiles sweetly as she walks down the aisle- even with no one waiting for her at the other end. What can the girl do but walk with her as far as her legs will carry her?
Her hand is cold in hers, no matter how much it tries to be warm for her. When did it become so?
The bride stops in her tracks.
She kisses the girl's hand that holds hers delicately. This is where our path together ends. Her lips are warm for an instant- the lipstick leaves no traces for the girl to remember her by.
The girl can only watch as the bride walks the rest of the way to the altar herself. First, her veil seems to slowly disappear, and then the hem of her dress, and-
She gets one last look at her angelic smile, beautiful eyes looking straight at her apologetically underneath the pure sunlight from the windows before she disappears completely. Maybe, she’s become one with the sun.
May the darkness of the night never come for you again- a whispered prayer.
But it always does, and tenfold when you're gone.
The girl's hand, still reaching out for a veil she can never catch, reaching for a taste of a quickly fleeting warmth before the darkness envelopes her once again.
Her heart drops as she feels her quickly cooling wrist for a pulse, and yet no familiar thrum of a heartbeat graces her fingers. She nearly drops to her knees in anguish.
You were never really suited for this, were you, Mahiru-san?