The Vows Beneath the Flame
The morning of the wedding arrived quietly, no photographers, no pageantry, no headlines. Just sunlight kissing the leaves of the Turner estate and a hush that felt holy.
The oak tree had been trimmed, but not touched. Its wide arms stretched above the garden like a silent witness. Beneath it, lanterns hung in clusters, swaying gently in the warm breeze. A circle of handmade wooden benches wrapped around the firepit, where dozens of candles waited to be lit.
There were no floral arches.
No aisle runners.
No thrones.
Only fire.
Only family.
Only love.
Nova stood barefoot in her childhood room, wearing a simple ivory dress with a neckline shaped like a flame and sleeves that fluttered like breath.
Grace pinned a golden star in her hair, the same one Cassi
