If only this world had shown me a little more mercy, I wouldn’t be in this dress right now. This stupid wedding dress, tight and uncomfortable. It’s exactly what he would want.

There’s a storm brewing outside, a light drifting in from the opaque window curtains, drowning the room in red. The dress took on the color as I twirled around absently in the gown.

Red, the color of love and passion. The color of appeal and warmth and beauty. It’s what I should be, what I need to be.

Red, the color of pain and anger. The color of bloodshed and danger. His anger could already show on my face, a light scar that I often hide with my hair. The danger was prevailing, pushing aside my calls of longing to the abyss. This is who I am and who I am to become.

With one crack of lightning, one flash of white, I fall to the ground.

I do not wish to get up, so I don’t.