Divinely confectioned as Viola was in a draped-back gown of ivory bridal satin, antagonistic clouds were already gathering on the morning of her impending wedded bliss. Edgar, precisely attired in a black tailcoat and trousers, mulishly pocket watch dueled over the correct time with his out-of-town best man. “Good golly,” countered Edgar’s second, his hair sweeping recklessly across his eyes. “Of what consequence is a minute or two when an entire lifetime with this pip of a gal awaits you!” Enough time, perhaps, for Viola, noting the rakish angle of Cecil’s finely chiseled jawline, to fancy an entirely different future.
The prompt? Moments.