On The Edge Of A Cliff Lady Une wiggled her toes in the grass, holding her expensive white sandals in one hand and her skirt in the other, high enough so that it didn’t get stained. This dress needed to stay white. Her hair fell down around her shoulders, longer than it used to be, shifting slightly with the breeze. The sky was the smoky purple of dusk, and somewhere to her left she could hear tree frogs singing love songs to their mates. She breathed in – sweet peas, daffodils, crocuses, but no roses. Roses weren’t right for this night. Roses were his, in her mind, and always would be. "Lady?" Inwardly, she sighed. She couldn’t get her best friend to call her by her first name, even now. It had taken three years to get to Lady from Colonel, and she was still working at it. She turned around. "Yes, Lu?" Une was slightly jealous. Lucrezia Noin was stunning in her maid of honour’s dress. Une herself was pretty, but her friend was exotic and unconsciously sensual, whereas she was more girl-next-door-ly attractive. "They’re ready for you." "I’m coming." It was, after all, quite fashionable to be late for one’s own wedding, even if it wasn’t the one she’d originally hoped for. She put on the sandals and made her way to the edge of the cliff, where he waited for her, along with an honour guard of Preventers, all in full dress uniforms. She was impressed. The dress uniforms weren’t particularly comfortable. She suppressed a smirk – the honour guard was more populated than the seats reserved for the guests. The media had ‘accidentally’ been sent the wrong location, and this was as small and intimate as she’d always dreamed it would be. A blond man, a close friend to one of her best officers, struck up some quiet music on his violin. It wasn’t the traditional music for such an occasion, but it was simple and haunting, and just right. Noin beside her, she walked towards the man she was to marry as he turned to her, smiling. She came to a halt on the edge of the cliff just as the sun finished setting. The half-light tinted everything a melancholy blue, which seemed fitting. It wasn’t that she didn’t love the tall blond man who stood before her, looking at her like he was seeing his fiancée for the first time. On the contrary – Rémi filled her with warmth she never thought she’d find again. He had smiling brown eyes with just a hint of laugh-lines around them and was a genuinely nice, funny guy. But he wasn’t Treize. The minister he’d chosen had finished the introductory section of the ceremony, and was talking to them now, asking the usual questions. She made the necessary responses, her eyes locked onto Rémi’s. But she didn’t see him. Instead, her mind’s eye furnished her with blue eyes, worn with too much responsibility but managing to shine anyway. Her nose was ignoring the sweet peas she held and conveyed the heavy scent of a hundred red roses, and she heard a waltz playing behind her. #I promised Treize I’d follow him anywhere and everywhere. He wasn’t supposed to go the one place I couldn’t follow. He wasn’t supposed to leave me behind. I gave him everything I had. More than that! I wanted to follow…# These were far from appropriate thoughts for her wedding day. But her mind kept running in circles around the wedding she wished she was having. There was a nagging guilt that insisted she was being unfaithful, dishonouring all three of them by marrying Rémi today. Below the priest’s voice, she heard the faintest ghost of a whisper. "Be happy, Lady." The breeze caressed her cheek briefly and vanished. She blinked, and when she opened her eyes again, the ones gazing back at her were brown and sparkling. She heard the tail end of the minister’s question, and murmured a response. "I do." #Thank you, Treize.# They kissed, and she was there, not hearing the ‘Aw’ of the blond violinist, the rustle of Preventer uniforms as her honour guard saluted, not even the ‘WAHOO!’ of an old opponent turned friend. The stars were coming out as they parted, and the violinist laid the instrument in its case – time to leave the music to the hired orchestra. Une took her shoes off again and leaned her head against Rémi’s shoulder, luxuriating in the tickle of grass against her toes. One-two-three, one-two-three, over and over. Other couples joined them. The violinist had with him a tall young man, Noin was dancing with the remarkably handsome agent who’d headed the honour guard, and the agent who’d cheered their kiss had grabbed the closest person and was leading them through a boisterous polka, quadrupling the tempo of the waltz. Une didn’t notice. This was right. She caught a whiff of roses and sweet peas mixed together, and she smiled.