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The bride was
radiant as she descended the stairs, a daisy chain crown topping her head of soft, light brown center parted hair. The assembled crowd in the parlor of the historic Victorian mansion experienced a collective intake of breath.
Though she wore little makeup, Darcy Farrow’s face was gorgeous. The lovely lady, in her late twenties seemed to have stepped out of 1968, traveling quickly back in time as she descended into a room filled with well preserved nineteenth century furniture.
Darcy’s frilly pink and green print caftan fluttered in the breeze from the open window on the landing. A silver heart pendant shone from the opening of the v-necked caftan. Her feet were clad in light brown leather Birkenstock style sandals.
April, Darcy’s niece sprinkled red rose petals along the pink carpet runner that led to the altar in front of the massive fireplace. The gathered crowd stood to watch the lovely young bride glide between the seats, covered in pale green to blend with the nature themed Victorian decor of the historic mansion the bride’s family had rented for the occasion. The roar of the ocean could be heard outside the windows of the home, the rear lawn of which descended toward a rocky cliff near the northern edge of the town of York Maine.
As the bride approached the altar, where a bearded, tunic wearing gentleman waited to perform the ceremony, flanked on one side by Darcy’s friends, wearing silky pink and green mini dresses, the young bride turned toward the groom and . . . Readers are invited to compose the next lines of this story in the comments section!
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