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The Bride

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The eyes of the bride glistened with tears, her trembling fingers intertwined with her brother’s.
He shouldn’t give me away. Not now.
A whisper between her lips, muffled by her veil.
“Guy? Please...”
“No. You must. It’s the only choice.”
His tone cold, remote. The voice of an assassin.
Mother… Father… It’s his fault.
A stranger grasped her childish hand.
Guy didn’t look back.
The day after, abused bride, she saw him again near a man with the eyes of an hawk: Guy was smiling, proud.
“I’ll be a knight...”
“I hate you. You’re dead to me.”
Isabella turned away.