Rain kept pouring even after they got Seraphina back home. It hammered the roof like it wanted to smash right through, flooding the whole quiet townhouse with that same storm messing up her heart. Marcelline sort of dragged her sister up those stone steps, her arms shaking from how heavy the soaked gown felt. By the bedroom door, the satin was wrecked, sticking to Seraphina like some kind of death wrap.
Marcelline tried saying something, tried pulling off the wet dress, but Seraphina fought it. She grabbed at the ruined thing like if she let go, she'd have to face all the rest she'd lost. Finally, she just fell into bed, mud-stuck veil and all. She turned her face to the wall. Didn't budge.
She stayed like that for hours.
That phone sat on the bedside table. The one with the photos. Its dark screen caught a blurry bit of her face in the low light, mascara runs and all, eyes red around the edges. She glanced at it once, hand jerking like she might grab it, then yanked back fast, like it was on fire. Didn't matter though. Those pictures were burned into her head already. Lucian's hand moving up Isolde's leg, his mouth tilting into her neck, that timestamp lighting up like some mean joke.
At first, she muttered to herself. Little broken no's. It wasn't real. Maybe old ones. Maybe a mix-up. Her lips shook saying it. No help there. Thoughts kept looping back, truth hitting harder each time, sharper, till she clapped hands over her ears. Like she could shut her own brain up.
Dusk came. Marcelline brought food up, soup steaming a bit, bread still kinda warm. Seraphina ignored it. Tray just sat on the dresser till the broth went cold, skin forming on top, onion smell turning sour. Her stomach rumbled once, low complaint, but she buried her face deeper in the pillow. Pushed it down. Hunger beat remembering, easy.
Night fell. Sleep didn't show. Eyes shut, and the pictures came back brighter. Almost heard Isolde laughing, Lucian's voice low in her ear. One time, sob breaking out, she sat up straight and fumbled for the phone. Thumb shook over the gallery, those damn photos. Thought about deleting, wiping them gone from everywhere. Finger just hung there, no press. Erase them, and maybe she'd lose her right to rage. To ache. To hold onto why it all broke.
She looked instead. Over and over. Like staring could rewrite the end. Each look stabbed fresh. Throat squeezed tighter every go.
Dawn hit. Eyes burned, body shook from no rest. She spotted herself in the mirror across the room. Nearly screamed. That wasn't Seraphina Vale, the glowing almost-bride. Swollen eyes, hair matted wild, lips chewed bloody. Looked away quick, curled up against the headboard as cries hit in new waves.
Why. She whispered it to the empty room. Why wasn't I enough.
Words bounced back soft, sad, no answer.
Mid-morning, Marcelline knocked light. Sera, eat something. Let me in, please.
Seraphina shook her head, even if her sister couldn't see. Voice came out rough, cried-out. Go away, Marcy. Can't. Can't face anybody.
Door creaked open anyhow. Marcelline came in slow, tray with tea and toast in her hands. Her eyes puffed up too, like she'd cried all night herself. Set it down, sat on the bed's edge.
Sera. She reached, tucked hair off her sister's wet cheek. He doesn't deserve those tears.
Seraphina pulled back. Kindness just twisted the knife. Hands to her temples, voice getting loud. But I gave him it all, Marcy. Trust, heart, God, years of it. For what. So he sneaks into her bed two nights before we marry.
Marcelline's jaw went tight. Then he doesn't deserve breathing your air.
That fire in her sister's words cracked something in Seraphina. Shook her head, tears coming faster. But I love him still. After all this, I hate it, but I. Voice broke. Bit her lip till blood.
Marcelline hugged her close, arms firm around the shakes. You'll stop, Sera. One day. I swear.
Seraphina didn't buy it. Not right then.
Day crawled by in thick quiet. No getting dressed. No moving much, just gripping the pillow harder. Neighbors probably gossiping already. Ruined weddings don't stay hidden. She pictured the talk spreading fast, folks chewing over the mess: bride ditched, groom caught, friend who stabbed the back.
Sun dropped again. She got up finally, not for food or a wash, but to walk the room like some spirit. Bare feet wore paths in the rug, words spilling out in bits. He held her like me. Kissed her like. Choked on it, hand over mouth. And I saw. Can't unsee.
Marcelline watched from the door. Nothing she could do.
Second night rolled in. Still no sleep. Seraphina huddled in the room's corner, phone hugged to her chest like a scary weapon she couldn't drop. Shadows leaned in, catching her mumbles. Once, she laughed. Hollow, rough, scared her own self.
He said nothing there. Nothing. Laugh turned to sob. If that's nothing, what's everything.
Third morning, voice nearly shot. Throat scraped raw, body wobbly weak. Stumbled to the mirror again. That stranger looked even more gone.
Bride died back on the cathedral floor. What was left, a woman heart-pulled through flames, dumped in ashes.
Somewhere in the ashes, a tiny stubborn piece still whispered his name.