I’ve been staring at my reflection for a good long while now.
The maids and the stylists and the makeup artists have left already, but I stay seated on the white stool, waiting, staring, thinking. I’ve never looked so simple, so beautiful.
It’s true that girls think of their mothers the most on their wedding day. If my mother hadn’t passed away shortly after giving birth to Fauna and I, would things have been different? Would I still be here; planning to be a runaway bride? Questions, questions…
I’ve never seen a picture of my mother. I can’t conjure her up from memory because my memories have never known her face. But I can’t help wondering, at this exact moment; how much of me looks like her?
My hair is styled into a neat chignon; twin strands curled and framing my face. Was her hair
