reflections

She stood, like a cameo surrounded by the perfect oval of her tall mirror, amid the scattered jumble of this and that dress tossed carelessly from the dress-up chest. The gown she had chosen was only barely still lavender and scarred by careless coffee drips and after date make-up smudges. She didn't see them. She didn't see the unmended rip at the hem where a misplaced high heel had severed material from seam. With an unconscious tug at the sleeve to pull it back up on her shoulder, she focused on the old lace table cloth and the clips barrettes she was using to secure it to her braids -- braids she had bobby-pinned to the top of her head in what looked to her to be a crown. She had chosen the mismatched jumble of barrettes with the practiced eye of a Milan couturier. Stepping back and turning slowly -- this way, then that -- she surveyed the effect as the light caught the facets in the 'diamonds' of the tiara that held her bridal veil in place. She smiled. And she saw her, saw her clearly ... smiling back --

Chocolate curls swept up to make a crown, a few left down to dance upon her shoulders. The strapless bodice was gardened with gemstone flowers and bordered in satin ribbon. Her skirt swept down to the floor, swaying like a bell as she glided to the window. Her gossamer veil flowed down upon her shoulders; the pink calla lilies of the bouquet she held mirrored the blush rising on her cheeks. She gazed serenely out, as the photographer speckled the room with flashes of light. She did not see the lights, she did not see the room -- she saw him, saw only him, waiting there on the grass below. He was gazing out across the hills, seeing ever-after miraged in the sunset colored clouds.

Blinking she turned and stepped carelessly across the lumps of clothes and toys, back to the chest to don another reflection.