The air that surrounds Jade tints as Mary goes on. The smile that she wears sharpens its edges until it’s capable of drawing blood, but Mary keeps her distance, only words thrown around. Feigning interest, their little game of make-believe, best friends tied together by some imaginary thread. She almost laughs at the idea of talking fashion, a belittling little sound it’d be with a scathing head-to-toe graze of the eyes, reigning judgement over too much of a delusion to even be in their world of pretend, but it never sounds. It never forms because Mary tops everything off with a shining cherry, bitter with poison. It goes down sour, but Jade has a tolerance built up. She gives an amused hum behind her curved lips before her head sways to direct her solely, the only one in the room to tunnel vision.
“You know what’s remarkable about what I do?” she asks, tone chirping with conversation, eyes sparkling with daggers before her mouth finely mints every syllable that falls from it. “I didn’t have to be a widow to get it.” Another smile as she tilts back, vision flickering over her. “But it looks good on you. Keep it up.”
“you’re right.” one day the word will lose its sting, as though someone has found a way to jam one more thorn into her side. but for now, it is at least harmless enough to produce a null expression. emptiness as compared to pitifulness, is worth spades. yet, there is little to be said in the short— what good would it do. “living is not a prerequisite for your career.” the words leave her mouth, bitter and ashy. they leave little to the imagination, though they are not laden with threat as one might have assumed. she merely states fact, she is a vessel for thy will to be done. and yet, what a day to say such a thing. and in the presence of a priest.
her eyes flash from the collar to jade, if something in her softened, she hoped it was imperceptible enough to escape comment. though mercy is earned, not deserved when there is such a flare. the wedding swarms around them, trapping ill will in its own glass jar. “there is only one wedding you should be preoccupied with, should you not?” almost, the bite still has not left her voice. but it seeps away syllable by syllable. self-scolded for rising to the bait. “you were appointed maid of honor.”
