Flash Fiction, Part 2: The Bride in Blue (Beneath the Veil)


They call her blessed, fortunate, prized among women. All she knows is that, today, her fate will be forever decided for her. She will have no long-born legacy as a bride in blue. She will have no children. She will have no husband. She may even be virginal forever. With a few words, a blue price, and the intoning of a godsman, her destiny will be obliterated, swallowed up in others’ desires for prestige.

They breathe prayers of blessing and utter yips of approval as they drape the sapphire blue veil, embroidered with golden gods notes, over her head, and paint her mouth red, the color of cunning.

She lets them dress her, veil her, bless her. She lets them lead her to the fane, all without a word. Nothing for their blessings, nothing for her mother’s tears, nothing for her sister’s jealous glances, nothing for her fathers puffed-out pride. If she could slap his hand away, she would. But she cannot, not here, or risk the standing of her family, little as it might be on its face. So, silent as a grave, she lets him lead her into the fane, through a world blurred blue and gold, to the fate that awaits her.

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Flash Fiction: The Bride in Blue


They call her blessed, fortunate, prized among women. They touch her with gentle hands, whisper prayers of blessing, and utter yips of approval. She is set above the salt; she is raised high. She is to be a bride in blue.

She is to be a bride in blue.

A bride in blue is special, set apart, set above. She might not be the first wife, the last wife, or even officially a wife. A bride in blue is something completely different. She is not the lady of the family or the head of the household. She could bear children but, often, precautions were taken to prevent the marring of her form. If she does, they will be placed in the nursery and taken to breast and mother by another, that blessed name never reserved for her. She was the height of the social court. When her lord or duke, warden or councillor will give great feasts or celebrations, bedecked and glittering for their distinguished guests, it is his blue bride who will appear at his side, the shining star on his arm. She will reign supreme, the celestial gem seated enthroned in his court for that night. She is the one about whom the minstrels will sing, the poets will write, and to whom men will swear chivalric fealty and their bravery’s blood.

They call her blessed, fortunate, prized among women. They touch her with gentle hands, whisper prayers of blessing, and utter yips of approval as they brush her locks until they gleam, paint her lips an ember red, and drape the sapphire gossamer over her head. Today, she will be a bride. She will be no wife. She will be no mother. Forever, she will be a bride in blue.

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This piece was inspired by my daughter running around, my dancing veil of filmy blue sari chiffon draped over her head. I’d really like feedback on this one. Please, feel free to leave me your thoughts in the comments. ^_^