Wedding Preparations
770 Words
Wedding preparations began the very next morning, sweeping through the house like a storm. Servants rushed in and out with fabrics, papers, ribbons, and trays of food. My mother barked orders with a joy I’d never seen in her before, and my father walked around with his chest puffed out, already acting like he was part of the lord’s inner circle.
I tried to stay out of the way, but Ravessa made that impossible.
The first disaster happened with the invitations. My mother had spent hours writing them in her elegant script, each one addressed to the heads of the twenty clans. She left them on the table to dry, telling Ravessa and me not to touch them. I didn’t. I wasn’t even near the table. I was across the room helping Jessa fold linens.
But Ravessa drifted over, humming under her breath. She picked up the ink pot, pretending to admire the color. Then she “tripped,” sending the entire pot spilling across the invitations in a thick black wave.
My mother gasped and rushed forward. “Ravessa! What happened?”
Ravessa’s eyes widened, her voice trembling. “I… I don’t know. Valestra bumped me.”
I stared at her, stunned. “I wasn’t even near you.”
But my mother didn’t look at me. She was already gathering the ruined invitations, her face tight with frustration. “Valestra, you need to be more careful. This is an important time for your sister.”
My father didn’t even glance my way. “Jealousy is unbecoming,” he muttered.
Jessa shot me a sympathetic look, but she didn’t speak. She couldn’t. Not in front of them.
The next sabotage came during the cake tasting. The baker brought three small cakes for Ravessa to choose from: honey spice, berry cream, and citrus blossom. Ravessa tasted each one with exaggerated delicacy, humming and sighing like she was already queen of the territory.
I didn’t touch any of them. I stood beside Jessa, watching.
On the last cake, Ravessa took a bite, paused, then gagged dramatically. She spit the piece into her hand and stumbled backward.
“It’s bitter!” she cried. “Something’s wrong with it!”
My mother rushed to her side. “What do you mean?”
Ravessa pointed at me, tears forming instantly. “Valestra must have done something. She was standing so close. Maybe she touched it.”
I blinked. “I didn’t even go near the table.”
My father’s jaw tightened. “Valestra, this childish behavior must stop.”
The baker looked horrified. “My lady, I assure you…”
But Ravessa waved him off, pretending to be too distressed to speak. My mother fussed over her, patting her back, offering her water, acting like she’d been poisoned.
I stood there, helpless, feeling the walls of the house closing in around me.
The worst moment came when my mother brought out her old wedding dress. It was delicate, embroidered with silver thread, carefully preserved for decades. She held it out to Ravessa with pride.
“This was mine,” she said softly. “I want you to wear it for your ceremony.”
Ravessa gasped, pretending to be touched. “Oh, Mother, it’s beautiful.”
My mother smiled, her eyes misty. “I’ll leave you girls to look it over.”
The moment she left, Ravessa’s expression changed. She sneered at the dress like it was filth. “No future lady would wear these rags.”
Before I could react, she grabbed the skirt and ripped it straight down the middle. The sound was sharp and violent. She tore the sleeves next, shredding the delicate fabric until it lay in tatters across the floor.
I stared at her, horrified. “Ravessa, what are you doing?”
She didn’t answer. She threw herself onto the ground, wailing loudly. Right on cue, our mother rushed back in.
“What happened?” she cried.
Ravessa pointed at me, sobbing. “Valestra tore it! She said I didn’t deserve it!”
I was kneeling, trying to gather the pieces, my hands shaking. “Mother, no, I didn’t, she…”
But my mother didn’t listen. She pulled Ravessa into her arms, glaring at me over her shoulder. “I don’t know what has gotten into you, Valestra. This jealousy is shameful.”
My father arrived moments later, taking in the scene with a single glance. “Enough. Ravessa is the chosen one. You will not ruin this for her.”
I felt something inside me c***k, but I said nothing. There was no point. They’d already decided who I was.
- Writer
