POV: Sienna
The dream starts the way they all used to before I lost my visions: sudden, violent, consuming. I'm standing in a cathedral, sunlight streaming through stained glass, casting colored shadows across white marble floors. Everything is beautiful, pristine, exactly what a wedding should be.
Then I see the bride.
She's walking down the aisle in a white gown, veil covering her face, bouquet of white roses clutched in hands that shake slightly. The music swells. The congregation stands. Everything proceeds according to tradition.
Until the veil starts dripping.
Red. Dark. Blood seeping through white lace, trailing down the bride's dress, staining white roses crimson. She keeps walking, keeps moving toward the altar where the groom waits, doesn't seem to notice that she's bleeding, that her wedding dress is becoming soaked with blood that has no visible source.
