The morning of my wedding, I woke before the sunrise. For a long moment, I just lay there, staring at the ceiling. The room was quiet, the house was quiet. Even my wolf was quiet, curled somewhere deep inside me like she was waiting for something.
I turned my head to look at the dress hanging on the closet door. White silk merged with delicate lace. Pearls sewn into the bodice by hand, my mother had chosen it. She had cried when I tried it on, and couldn't stop chattering about how beautiful it was.
By eight o'clock, my room was full of people.
Clara fussed with my hair, pinning and repinning until every strand was perfect. My mother directed everyone like a general commanding troops, makeup artists dabbed and brushed, florists delivered towering arrangements of white roses.
Through it
