Torn.

An avalanche of snow could not bury her any deeper. Indeed, the dress seemed far too luxurious, the jewelry too magnificent - too genuine. Nothing around her was anything she deserved. She wanted more, but also...less. The house was a mansion, the furniture abundant; opulent. _Yet_, she pondered to herself as she adjusted the rows of pearls around her neck, _there was no connection. No passion. No similarity_. Her new life was about to be any girl's dream - a marriage into royalty. The husband-to-be was a dear man, of course. An ideal for any sane woman. Tall, handsome, intelligent, sociable...and he had gone after her, for reasons she still did not know. And yet, even on her wedding day, dressed to the nines in silk, lace and diamonds, she could not help but think of Charles - the awkward photographer who had touched her hands with his own gangly fingers, who had gotten to know her in one single day, who stumbled and stammered - but was a soul ever so _animated_. And now, he was to capture her wedding.