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The Lovecraft Affair, Chapter 3
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Disclaimer
This is a work of amature fiction, no contravention of copyright is intended and no profit is made from this endeavour.
In lieu of a chapel, the house's front parlor was decorated with pink and
white bunting and ribbons, a few rows of chairs making an aisle for the
bride to walk down. The afternoon sunlight streaming through the
floor-to-ceiling windows along one outside wall didn't quite dispel the
pervading sense of gloom, nor did the occasional music being played by a
portly middle-aged woman at the baby grand which had been moved to a
corner of the room.
This was the scene which greeted the two men as they entered the room,
a smiling Napoleon in the lead followed by a less sanguine Illya. They went
down the aisle, noting the faces of the guests as they pased and nodding to
Waverly at his place on the front row of the groom's side. The pair took
their appointed places and waited for the ceremony to begin.
A few minutes later, a tall and cadaverously thin gentleman entered and took
his place at the front of the room. This was the person who would be
conducting the ceremony. Though he had been previously introduced to the
UNCLE agents, his exact qualifications to preside at a wedding had never
been explained -- he had simply been introduced as "Mr. Perkins" with no
other title. He spoke briefly to the two men, attempting to reassure the
groom, who was looking more ready to bolt every minute.
About ten minutes after Perkins had entered, the mother of the bride came
in, signaling to the pianist on her way to her seat. A moment of silence,
then
came the familiar strains of "Here Comes the Bride," followed by the bridal
party.
First down the aisle were the bride's youngest sister and brother, in their
roles
of flower girl and ringbearer -- a solemn and well-behaved pair. Next came
the maid of honor, followed by the bride herself.
She was a delicate, almost elfin creature, wearing a starkly plain
ankle-length
sleeveless satin sheath dress, a pale ivory in color, her long dark hair
piled in
a mass of curls on her head and covered with an ivory mantilla which just
brushed her shoulders. Her gray eyes were wide, though with excitement or
fright Illya couldn't tell.
Though his experience with Western wedding ceremonies was extremely
limited, some portions of what followed struck him as odd. Even Napoleon
frowned when small cuts were made in the left ring fingers of both bride and
groom, the wounds subsequently being pressed together to mingle the blood
while Perkins chanted something in a language which, for all his expertise,
Illya couldn't identify. The chant ended with the English words, "You are
now one blood, a single entity, sharing a single fate."
After that, the ceremony took on a more familiar pattern, with the standard
vows, and shortly Perkins was pronouncing them husband and wife and
telling him he could kiss the bride. Illya did so, lightly and
perfunctorily,
ending the ceremony with a minimum of effort.
The reception was a strangely subdued affair, and even Napoleon's toast
couldn't lighten the mood.
Just after sunset, they gathered for the seance.
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