a Vale.” “No,” I said. “That child is Lily Hart.”
Margaret recoiled as if I had struck her lineage. Celeste laughed. It started low, then grew louder. Everyone turned. She stood in the center of the aisle, bouquet loose in her hand, veil now slightly askew. The perfect bride had fractured, and something reckless stared out through her eyes.
“You think continue reading …
