Let the Procession Begin

While Florence was getting into Milan’s clothes, the priestess worked on cleaning Milan’s body for the procession. The man was not even embarrassed or uncomfortable as if he was used to being suited this way. She was even wondering how a young man like Milan had such glass skin and slender fingers. There were calluses in some places, but they were signs of hard work.

“Milan, what do you do for a living?” The priestess couldn’t help but ask as she got to tie Milan’s hair into a bun to hold the veil and the hood of the garb. Even his hair was the smoothest the priestess had ever touched.

“I dance in space.” Milan chuckled. He stared at his face with a hand mirror. The makeup for the bride was like a stage look.

A bright red color covered his eyes from the inner corner to way past the outer one. The face was as white as a doll’s ceramic head, and the lips were as if smudged with blood. Perhaps, the only defining feature was the markings on the forehead that seemed to be wriggly worms that denoted ancient writing.

The priestess only glanced at the young man in front of her. She then dropped the matter as she prepared to fix the veil on him. “You may stand.”

“Is there a chance I will die, Priestess?” Milan asked as the veil was placed on his head. He could barely see through the cloth, but he was used to veils.

“I can’t tell. Perhaps it depends on what you consider dying. After all, Lasair is eternal.”

The priestess had to go on tipped toes just to reach the top. She figured it would be hard to disguise Milan’s height as that of a woman. Then again, she just glanced at Florence, who was also a tall woman.

After a few more minutes, the bride was ready. Milan walked slowly along the hallway, clad in a white two-piece frock with a jacket and a veil. Perhaps the only skin visible was his hands, whose fingertips were dyed with bright red rouge and whose nails were painted white.

Florence tried her best to appear like her brother, shoulders leveled and back straight. His silhouette was not hard to copy as his body didn’t seem to be as masculine as it should be. In fact, his body was even like it belonged to a woman instead.

“They’re here…” Someone called out the sedan bringers to prepare for the procession. By then, Owen quickly took Florence away before the others could spot her wherever she stood.

Only Corbin managed to escape their gazes and catch up with Owen and Florence. He huffed through his teeth and grabbed Florence’s arm. “Milan! Tell me it was you who took Andrew’s gun. It will be big trouble if—”

Owen reached out to pry Corbin’s hand off of Florence’s arm, his cold eyes glaring at the police officer.

Corbin would say something, but he felt how Florence moved and nudged his abdomen with the handle of the gun as if secretly passing it to him.

“I’m sorry…” That was all she said before Owen managed to walk her away from Corbin.

“Mercy…” Corbin murmured as he watched the two walk away. He then turned in the sedan’s direction and saw the bride climbing the sedan gracefully. “That isn’t Florence, right? Fuck, then who is it?”

He then looked down at the gun in his hand. “Shit, did Milan just…?”

At the sedan’s spot, the bride was finally settling on her chair. She kept to herself, not talking to anyone—not that anyone spoke to her as well. Martin stared at the bride as if feeling happy it wasn’t her daughter who would ride to her death that night.

“Let the people know.” The priestess cued the drummers to begin the march. She then eyed Martin who was looking at the bride. “Mr. Clifford, I need you to do something for me.

“Everyone thinks the bride is your eighteen-year-old daughter, the youngest among the brides. You need to walk with her to the shrine.” The priestess stepped closer and placed some kind of garland on him. “The people also knew a bride had killed herself in the sedan once. I need you to ensure she won't.”

Martin couldn’t even get a word out before the priestess asked ‘Florence’ to drape her hand to the side. Then she took Martin’s hand to lace the two together. Perhaps this was a step the council decided on without Martin knowing.

The priestess patted the hands after she even wrapped a ceremonial knot to secure the two hands. She then caught how Martin glared at her. “The father walks his daughter to the groom in mainland weddings, does he not?”

“You didn’t have to tie our hands together.” Martin snorted. He didn’t want to hold the hand of some stranger, but since the skin was smooth and the flesh was soft, he didn’t complain anymore. It was even very nice to hold.

“Relax, you’re holding your daughter.” The priestess left them alone to speak with the guards this time. By then, the drummers began playing to wake up the village.

Martin only glanced at the bride hidden behind the sedan’s curtains. It was sheer, so he could still see her inside. He then gazed at the hand weakly holding him.

The father patted the hand with his other one. “I’m sorry, Miss Sheppard. I’ll just hold your hand if you get scared.”

Because of the veil, no one could see how murderous and disgusted Milan’s expression was. The priestess should have told him he had to hold this despicable man’s hand all the way.

“Let the procession begin!” The priestess announced.

Corbin and Andrew rode their mobiles to lead the procession. They had to clear the path for the drummers, the other priests praying, and finally the sedan. Boris and the other officer were staying behind the sedan, closer to the bride if trouble arose.

The pace was slow as most people were walking. The sedan bringers didn’t have trouble lifting the sedan that didn’t even seem to get any heavier even with Milan inside. Martin was also walking next to the sedan, while the priestess stayed on the other side.

Corey opened the window from their attic and saw the procession from a distance. It would pass by their street later, but she was more scared of how Milan’s plan went. Before she knew it, she saw a black blur joining her to watch from the small and tinted window.

“Milan, you’re back.” Corey knew that hoodie belonged to Milan, but she was stunned when Florence took off the hood.

“No, Corey.” Florence turned to the sworn sister. “The nominated bride for this generation… is actually Milan, not me.”