what lived and died

Their bedchamber is bathed in a soft, glowing warmth from the fading sunlight outside and the lit fireplace, painting the walls a glimmering orange. Penelope - beautiful, wonderful Penelope, his bride, his wife - is stood in the center, in front of the mirror that the servants must have brought in, hands twisted behind herself to reach for her dress, hair tucked over one shoulder and face streaked with tears. She meets his gaze through the mirror, finds him where he’s frozen in place. Her veil has been discarded on their bed.“I cannot unlace myself,” she croaks, and Colin is sure that his traitorous little heart has broken free of his ribcage entirely and is now dragging itself, bedraggled and bruised as it is, across the carpeted floor to try and get to her.(or, their wedding night.)