Ji Anning tightly gripped the toothbrush, brushing vigorously, foam constantly sliding down her chin, all of it red, until the foam was gone, then she removed the toothbrush.
Bowing her head, what flowed from her mouth was vivid red blood, dripping steadily into the sink, flowing down the drain.
She turned on the faucet, scooped up so cold water, and splashed it on her face.
All her actions served only to remind herself to be more alert, only to make herself cut off completely from the past starting today.
"Miss Niannian is the most beautiful bride I have ever seen."
"Truly beautiful."
After the makeup had been applied and her look was completed, Anning stood in front of the mirror, puppet-like, while the makeup artist and costur each adjusted her veil and the hem of her dress.
The two never ceased praising her, and the assistants nearby echoed their complints.
Anning’s expression was blank, showing none of the joy or bliss that a bride should possess.
"Is it ready? The wedding is about to begin."
The wedding coordinator urged for the second ti.
Both the stylist and the costur gave him an OK sign, then smiled slightly at Anning, saying, "Miss Niannian, we’re ready, let’s go downstairs."
Anning nodded, turned, and looked at her mother sitting on the bed; her mother watched her, her face devoid of joy, with a hint of lancholy between her brows.
She smiled at her, "Mom, let’s go downstairs together."
"Okay." Her mother nodded, and finally her lips curved into a smile, a forced smile.
She had been in a car accident, and her body was not what it used to be, needing to support herself with the mattress to rise after sitting too long, slowly straightening her legs, then her back.
Anning walked over and took her arm, supporting her.
They walked ahead while the makeup artists and others followed; in the downstairs living room, servants bustled everywhere, and all the guests had moved to the backyard.
Anning cast her eyes down over the living room, morosely lowered her gaze, and descended the stairs.
Led by the servants, she walked step by step into the wedding hall she didn’t want.
The venue was arranged much more grandly and spectacularly than she had seen the day before. The guests were seated in rows, quietly listening to the familiar scripts of the host on stage.
Charles stood next to the host in a sleek black suit, his posture upright and relaxed.
Instead of her father walking her to the groom as tradition dictated, Anning slowly entered arm in arm with her mother.
"Ma’am, let escort you to your seat."
At the floral archway, soone approached them to escort her mother away, leaving Anning sowhat flustered. She looked at her mother.
Her mother patted the back of her hand and gave her a reassuring look.
Anning’s lips tightened, tears sparkled in her eyes as she pulled her hand from her mother’s arm, listening to the wedding march and watching her mother move to the first row from the side entrance.
Tears blurred her eyes.
"Next, please welco our beautiful bride to the stage."
The host repeated the phrase, unknowingly how many tis, and when Anning remained motionless, he raised his voice again.
Anning hesitated to step forward, reluctant to appear, as everyone turned to look back; she was obscured by flowers, but she could see them.
A sea of unfamiliar faces, curious gazes, forced her toward the brink of collapse.
"Niannian, are you thinking of backing out?"
Charles himself approached Anning, looking down at her, his voice cold, sending chills of fear through her.
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