At the Altar
I took a deep breath and began my walk down the long driveway, the candles shining from the bellies of the pumpkins lighting my way. As I neared the front door, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the window. Red patterns hugged my dress, spread out almost in a beautiful way. They curled around my waist, snaked around my shoulders and when my gaze moved downwards I could see them kiss the edge of my dress, turning browner as I walked.
A creak drew my attention to the front door. The house was rather small, with one window at the front and a low roof. But I knew the inside was the most beautiful thing you could imagine. Even before the door began to open, I could smell the lavender. Strange. If someone had asked me how my house smelt I don’t think I could describe it, but I knew it instantly. I watched as the door opened to a blank space. My feet carried me inside before I even thought about it.
The wooden floor was unusually not cold. Or solid. I felt like I was walking on water. I walked around the corner, past the bowl of sweets reserved for the children of the town and passed through the kitchen doorway. I was always too tall for this place. His place. And there he was. It had been less than twenty-four hours since I had seen him but the bitter hatred I felt coated my tongue, nevertheless. He was sat upon one of the wooden stools that we had chosen together, with a woman at his side. She was rather young, maybe even younger than the two of us – one of the twenty-two-year olds who married straight out of university. Fire raged against my ribcage as I moved forward, past the man who stood in front of our fridge. ‘How could you do this to me?’ I croaked. The man behind me spoke as my husband refused to look at me. ‘Tell us the last time you saw her, Mr. Hades?’
‘At the altar,’ he replied.