She lay, the beginning of morning dew glistening on the grass. She had watched the stars move overhead all night, examining the sky and imagining the beyond: heaven. Her white dress flowed out around her and a knife dangled in her cold fingers. She pressed against the blade, just hard enough to draw a small drop of blood. She closed her eyes, hoping to escape the anxious feeling in her stomach, but instead she found herself in the same position, yesterday, her head on the chest of her soon to be husband. They both got up, fingers interweaved, a flower in her hair. He looked down at his bride-to-be with only the most genuine love.

She felt the wet dew on her back and reached for her husband. Instead she could feel the air, hollow, cold. She couldn’t stand the feeling, being alone, without him. She could still feel the warmth of his hands in hers at the altar, could still hear the ‘I do’s’ moving effortlessly from their lips, less than twelve hours ago. And then she remembered the thought, the plain, simple thought that she could not live without him, ever. So she brought him to the spot where she lay now. And rested her head on his chest. They got up and he picked a flower for her hair. He looked down at her, lovingly, she pulled a knife from behind her back, stabbed him through the heart. She pulled him over to edge of the cliff, watching his body fall lifelessly, gorgeously into the churning water below. She returned to the spot where they had lay, to wait. Wait for him to pass through the gates of heaven, wait for him to begin to miss her, wait. And now, after she was positive that he was ready for her, she walked the same path that she had taken him, to the edge of the cliff. She leaned, falling from the cliff. The pristine white satin of her dress billowed in the wind. Her body twisted glamorously in the air. She hit the water and the current dragged her into the icy depths of the ocean.