I fancied myself a hero.

I wanted to be a brave, courageous heroine right out of the pages of the books that Madame Lorenzo let me borrow from her library. I wanted to be someone who lit up the darkness, to save those I love. I wanted to ride upon horseback, brandishing a steel sword with the sun glinting off my armor.

This wedding dress was my armor.

It wasn’t exactly the heroic beginning, or ending, that I had hoped for. Instead of carefully crafted breastplate and fine chainmail, it was fine silk and tiny, sparkly beads. Instead of sweat and blood rolling down my cheeks, a show of all my effort, my cheeks were pinched for pinkness and my face powdered with false beauty. Instead of messily plaited hair to keep it from getting in my face as I saved my people, it was brushed and braided, curled and pinned up.

His name was Ignatus, my husband to be.

He was old. He was ugly. He was violent.

And I was frightened of him.

With eyes as black as a sinner’s heart, his enemies regarded him in fear of bloodthirsty methods. He had built his kingdom on the remains of dead bodies. They dressed in their black obsidian armor, cracks from the heat of the desert and the dents from their blood driven conflict. They never removed it.

Someone pulled at the white ribbon corset at the back of my dress. “Hold your breath, my love.” My mother was thrilled, of course. While my brother was at war, I was finally a getting married.

When my father had asked me if I was ready to accept my fate, I had eagerly replied, “Yes Father!”

Oh, what a senseless little girl I was, head in the clouds and in the words of a false universe. My mind had spun out of control with excitement with the thoughts of battles, dragons, and soldiers.

The thought of his hands on my body made my skin crawl and my stomach convulse.

“We're almost ready for you, Mistress,” our servant, Katie, called to me, her green eyes downcast as she bowed.

I wondered what her fate was.

Finally reality seemed to crack through my far away mind. I nearly wept from the thought of it. I choose my fate.

My fate laid in this wedding dress, standing at the top of the wedding alter.