((( the black veil )))

...She had envisioned herself; while she lay awake in bed; in a long satin gown with chiffon detail stretched down past her ankles and a small train delicately draped behind her on the floor. She had on a veil made of lace; something she had picked up in a roadside flea market on a trip back from visiting her father years before. She threw it into a stamped burlap sack and placed it next to the silver candlesticks, inside of a cedar chest with leather straps and brass buckles. She felt accomplished by the wheeling and dealing that bantered back and forth between the keeper of the market and herself. They got some laughs out of the entire ordeal. She laughed at his southern hillbilly accent and he laughed at her stilettos and excessively large sunglasses. "City Girl," he'd say, to point out another gem he thought she'd enjoy having a look at. She could have walked away with much more, having had the room in the car. She thought of bungee straps and the need to always keep an extra set in the car for such instances. She promised she'd revisit soon and continually bring back treasures each and every time.

The veil was handcrafted and in pristine condition with black jewels dangling from the edges and a slight metallic sheen woven between the threads. She often thought of the stories behind its life, full of travels and endless pages filling leather bound books found in vintage suitcases that were carried on steam powered railroad locomotives with white smoke blowing hastily out of its stack. 

The veil covered her face; covering the black mascara that ran down her jawbone like the chills down her spine knowing he was not only fooling around with someone but treating her much like a foreign substance all the while. Not that she minded much with the lack of attention, just the sound of his voice made her skin crawl and her central nervous system gag in reflex.

The entire ensemble; excluding  her blonde hair pulled taut in a classic chignon, veil neatly pressed against her dampened face, all the way to the extension of the train that flowed behind her like the past that seemed to follow her around; was jet black, the exact color of the soul that currently fed the relationship. Black like a top hat, black like night, black like tar and black like the innards of the eye that was bruised upon the weight from his right hand...