It was a gorgeous day for a wedding, especially an outdoor wedding. The sun shone done from the bright blue sky with not a cloud in sight. The weather had even cooperated, the day being typically summer-warm but not uncomfortably hot for those who were wearing suits or dresses for the ceremony.
The little outdoor gazebo behind the Cathedral of Light in Stormwind had been decorated with bunches of roses and white and pink streamers that hung from the sides of the structure and were twined around some of the sculpted bushes that surrounded the rows of pews. The bride and groom were simply glowing, their hands clasped together as they finished their vows before one of the priests of the Cathedral, and many in the audience shed tears of joy and hugged one another as they watched the beautiful ceremony come to its conclusion.
Father Robert Delion watched the proceedings from the very back of the gathering, his hands clasped before him over his simple gray cloth robe and a smile on his face as he watched the ceremony. At twenty-six, he was a striking man with close cropped black hair, broad shoulders, and a rather imposing six foot, three inch height. It often surprised others that a man so physically capable had taken the vows of the Church and sworn himself to the Light, but one had to speak to Father Delion for a few minutes to understand the joy of faith and service that he held in his heart.
It was for this reason that Father Delion's smile faltered just slightly as his eyes ran over the crowd. While many of the attendees were crying happily and sitting near one another, he spotted a figure sitting alone near the back of the assembly where he himself was standing. The woman wore a powder-blue dress, the color of the thin fabric vibrant against what little of her tanned skin he could see. Her head was covered with a matching scarf, likely to block the worst of the sun's rays as she sat and watched the ceremony alone. Long blonde hair fell from around the edges of the scarf, framing her face which was partially obscured by thick sunglasses. The woman sat with her head bowed, her legs crossed and her fingertips idly toying with a string that had come loose from her dress.
It wasn't the way she looked that attracted Father Delion's eye, but rather her manner. Where the others had happy smiles on their faces as the ceremony ended, the blonde woman seemed to have a look of haunted sorrow in her expression. It was difficult to tell beneath the glasses and the dark, almost black lipstick she wore, but he could almost swear she was about to cry. As the bride and groom passed back down the aisle to the applause of their guests, the crowd rose to follow them towards what would presumably be their reception. The blonde woman did not rise however, letting the crowd pass her by as she sat in her pew, looking towards the now vacant gazebo.
It dawned on Father Delion that he hadn't seen the woman arrive at the start of the ceremony, and as he watched her rise, his suspicions were confirmed when he saw her heading not with the rest of the crowd, but towards the cemetery beyond the gazebo. His mind made up, he turned and followed the woman, clearing his throat loudly to get her attention just as she was about to step onto the grass between the first row of headstones.
She paused and turned, her expression unreadable behind the glasses. He could almost feel her gaze appraising him as they looked at one another, and he found his own eyes studying her more closely. She was not displeasing to the eye, and although her skin had an odd dryness to it that was likely from too much time in the sun, her slender curves in the dress were quite complimentary. He shook such errant thoughts aside as he realized the woman was simply watching him, not saying a word.
"Good day miss," he began quickly. "I couldn't help but notice that you looked....well, troubled. After such a joyous event as a wedding, it pains me to think that one of our congregation would feel ill at ease at the festivities."
The woman paused, the silence pushing towards becoming uncomfortable before she spoke. She kept her voice low, almost too low to be heard and Father Delion found himself straining to hear, "I apologize if my actions seemed rude Father, I simply did not wish to ruin the enjoyment of others by joining them."
Father Delion's eyes widened and he shook his head, "Nonsense, and please, call my Robert. The Light blesses all of us in its own way. You were kind enough to share in the joy of that couple, and to think that you would be shunned from their reception is simply-"
"Robert then," the woman interrupted. "I fear that you know little of me. To say that the Light would bless my presence at such an event is...something I would doubt very much. I do not wish to offend you, but it is for the best that I simply observe and leave. It is my lot now, when other duties do not call me."
Father Delion smiled, folding his hands before him, "Miss, I assure you that the Light does indeed bless your presence. It is in all of us, and all around us. It is true that it may feel distant at times, but that doesn't mean that you are cast out from its grace. It is there to comfort, to heal, to forgive and to fill us with its love. It is not spiteful you see!"
The woman seemed to take this in, standing silently at the edge of the cemetery. Father Delion was struck by the symbolism of her position. She felt cast out, and stood at the line where life played out and where death maintained its grasp. He brushed the thought aside as she spoke again. "And what of those who have done wrong? What if you are so vile that the Light itself cannot ever forgive you?"
It was an interesting question, and not one that Father Delion had fielded before. Born in Elwynn and trained in the Northshire Abbey, he had of course had members of the congregation come to him with doubts, but few came close to placing such damnation on themselves verbally. The woman looked to be no more than twenty, twenty-five at the oldest. He couldn't imagine how she could feel such a thing but he vowed then and there to help her.
"Miss, no matter what you believe you've done, no matter what crimes you feel you've committed or have actually committed, the Light forgives. It is in all of us. You are not separate from it, you simply do not feel it because of the guilt that you place on yourself. Once you can see past that, you will feel its love again," was his reply.
She tilted her head, a smirk playing across her painted lips as she studied him, "I wish I could believe that what you say is true. There was a time, long ago, when I felt my faith, when I felt the Light's touch. It has been long since gone. I stopped simply to see the ceremony, not because the Light brought me forth or I believed that it would aid me or come to me now."
He smiled at her, "And yet, it brought me to you, did it not? Perhaps I can help you. Give me a chance, and perhaps together we can get to the root of the self-blame that makes you feel so separated from the Light. The first step to healing is to accept the hand that is offered to you when you've stumbled, and allow yourself to stand once more."
This time the smile on her face was genuine, and she nodded, "If you actually wish to speak with me again, then so be it. I warn you now though, I fear you face a challenge beyond your ability to overcome. Not because I will it to be so, but simply because it is the way it is."
Father Robert Delion smiled, dipping his head at the woman, "That is quite alright miss. All that we as the faithful can do is try. If I did not try, I would not be worthy to lead others in the worship of the Light. Come and visit me at the abbey when next you wish to speak, and I will gladly teach you more of the Light and help to discover how to overcome whatever it is that ails your heart."
The woman nodded, still smiling as she turned towards the graveyard. She took a step past the line that Father Delion had already marked in his mind as the barrier between the living and dead, one light blue sandal pressing into the grass of the cemetery. His eyes widened and he blurted out, "Miss! Before you go... I never got your name!"
The woman half-turned, studying him again before responding, a playful look to her smile, "My name is Beckyann. Beckyann Eastberg. You can call me Becky if you'd like."
Father Robert Delion returned the smile, nodding at the woman as she turned and walked into the cemetery, "Light bless you then Beckyann Eastberg. I hope to see you again soon."
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