A chapel.
I'm standing in a chapel.
And there's a figure in black running toward me.
My first thought, absurdly, is:Ghost.
My second thought is to form a cross with my fingers because that's what they do in the movies, right? Ghosts hate crosses? Or is that vampires? Either way, I'm raising my hands, ready to—
Wait.
Is that mascara running down her cheeks?
Since when do ghosts wear makeup?
"S'il vous plaît!"
And speak French?
The ghost—woman—bride?—grabs my shoulders, and her nails dig in hard enough to make me wince.
Okay, definitely real. Definitely real because she smells amazing, like jasmine and something sweeter, and her nails are alsodefinitelygoing to leave marks.
I look at her, but my own confusion and shock makes me blind to her as a human. All I can see is her as the subject of a photo. Black gown trailing behind her like a river of ink, veil half-torn and streaming. Even with her makeup ruined and her hair coming loose from what was probably an elaborate updo, she's the kind of beautiful that doesn't seem real. The kind you see in Renaissance paintings, all soft edges and luminous skin. Delicate features. The sort of bone structure that looks good from every—
"Are you listening to me?!"
She’s switched to English, and it makes her terror more palpable. And instantly effective in snapping me out of my mental fugue.
Focus, Bailey!
“He’s gone insane!”
Who’s he, and why should I care?
“You should hide, too!”
Before I can respond, she's running again. Heading for the left wall, for a panel carved with roses that I somehow know isn't just decorative.
She presses her palm against the center bloom.
A door groans open. Hidden. Secret.
She looks back at me one more time. Her eyes are the color of rain, wide with terror and something that might be gratitude.
And then she's gone.
Swallowed by the darkness behind the wall.
The door slides shut.
I stand there.
Alone.
In a chapel that smells like money and scentless roses and someone else's ruined wedding.
My brain is doing that thing it does when too much is happening at once. Just...stalling. Buffering. Like a computer that's been asked to process a file that's way too big.
