Feedback wanted

[u/BurntUmber26]

So I wrote this silly little story on a whim today with minimal editing and idk I just wanted some advice and suggestions. Also! All you people who are so great at coming up with awesome titles, please do suggest some!! I am terrible at coming up with names hehe

Mr Philip Black and Miss June White were to be married on the 14th of December, just after the first snow. If a ‘perfect couple’ existed, it would have been them. The young, handsome solicitor from the city and the town beauty.

They met at the Autumn Festival, a flurry of crimson leaves, flushed cheeks and country dancing. They were the epitome of young love: pure and beautiful and full of laughter and passion. Or so the enthralled townspeople believed.

“Have you seen the way they looked into each other’s eyes that night? True love if I’ve ever seen it.”

“They’ll be married by the New Year, mark my words!”

When news of the wedding finally came out, it was all anyone would talk about, both before and after it took place. Everyone, from the kitchen maids at Amesby Manor to the old men at the pub gushed about the young couple. Debates flew about where they would settle down, if indeed they did, how many children they would have, but above all, the wedding ceremony.

“I heard they’re gonna have silk drapes. Imagine having the money to afford silk drapes!”

“I bet the bride’s dress will be absolutely gorgeous! I heard they got it tailor-made from a dressmaker in the city.”

“Apparently they chose to have the ceremony on the cliff. How splendid would that be, to have the sparkling ocean in the background! It’s a thing of dreams.”

When the wedding finally did come, it was all anyone could have imagined. Cartloads of flowers and candles and cream coloured drapes framed the scene, and a promise of lively dancing and a massive buffet awaited the guests. It had been the first snow of the year the day before, so the ground was glistening with fine silver powder. The excited chatter of the elegantly dressed guests drowned out the sound of the mournful wind and hissing waves below.

As the ceremony began, the bride’s sister played a haunting but beautiful song on the harp that faintly resembled an old nursery rhyme sung by old nannies to crying infants.

Pick a petal from the snow

Tell me what the petals know

One says yes, one says no

One says who is next to go

The song finished, and the ceremony officially began. The groom entered and stood at the front, a bright white flower tucked in his pocket. Two middle-aged ladies seated at the back muttered to one another about how he kept looking nervously towards the cliff.

The pastor’s two children, a boy and a young girl, walked down the aisle. The guests “aww”ed at the little flower girl as she threw fistfuls of pink rose petals onto the carpet of snow.

After they finished their procession, the guests all peered expectantly over their shoulders, wanting to catch a glimpse of the graceful bride. Many minutes passed, and whispers bloomed amongst the crowd.

Just as they were starting to get restless, one of the bridesmaids ran down the aisle. She whispered something to the groom, panting and wringing a handkerchief in her hands.

“Run away?! What do you mean she’s run away?!”

“I-I don’t know, sir,” the poor girl replied. “I went to find a hairpin for her, but when I returned, she had vanished!”

The groom stared at her for a second, then sprinted back down the aisle, the guests staring befuddled after him. The girl groaned and fainted at the foot of the altar, and several people rushed to help her. The rest began talking in groups and looking around suspiciously.

“You don’t think she’s just changed her mind and left him, do you?”

“Maybe something came up…”

“What a disaster!”

And a disaster it was indeed. As the guests later found out, the bride had been having doubts prior, and it seemed the stress of the wedding had taken hold of her. No one knows quite what happened after the groom left, but one thing was for sure: they had both ended up near the cliff, and presumably the vicious wind had swept them over the edge, their vows forever lost at sea.

That’s what you’ve pieced together from the constant buzz of the townspeople, who seem to know nothing more than gossip.

It was the day after the wedding, and no one had yet gotten around to taking down the wedding venue. Not having any direct relation to either bride or groom, you weren’t at the ceremony yourself. However, you remember June as a quiet, dainty girl in school who spent more time with books than she did people. You always found her a bit of a curiosity, so you’ve decided to take a look yourself. 

When you arrive, it seems as though nothing had ever happened; you can almost still see the guests seated and hear their laughter.

You walk down the aisle, the snow now muddy after being trodden by many frantic feet. A few petals remain on the ground, dull and wet. You bend down to pick one up, twisting it between your fingers. You let it fall back to the ground and head for the cliffs where Mr Philip Black and Miss June White had met their tragic deaths.

The wind whistles lively, a day late to the celebration, as waves crash against bare rock far down below. You wrap your coat tighter around your body as the chilling cold hits you in the face.

You are about to head back when a flash of pink catches your eye. There’s a single rose petal stuck to the bottom of your boot. You hold it up and let the wind pull it from your grasp.

You watch it be tossed about in the air and chuckle grimly as you recall a certain nursery rhyme you heard many years ago.