wedding

Wedding Day
Submitted by NonSequitur on August 31, 2008 - 09:35.It is the morning of my wedding to Etienne Emmanuel, Dauphin of France, and I sit at my dressing-table and drone my rosary, the words lulling and familiar. My broad hands on the somber beads have a certainty, a possession, absent from the rest of my demeanor, at least this day, and I find comfort in the grip.
I love Etienne, it is sure, and I am prepared to marry him. Never has any countenance, whether square, before me, or conjured in dream, roused such emotion in my breast; never has any touch borne such craggy, such voluble chills through my veins. Never has any man made me ache, so clandestinely, with desire.
But still, inarticulate fears linger. I have twenty years on my form; Etienne, nineteen. To be sure, we are well-endowed, passionate with the mirth and vigor of youth. But...suppose we round the ominous curves of middle age, and our love wanes; suppose my womb fails to deliver an heir fitly crafted enough to please his family?

