[Celuien]

Panakeia felt the heat of the crowd's gaze on her white-clad figure. She blushed. This was all so unexpected! One moment, she had been on the edge of defeat, lost in the midst of a battle and the next - she was here, wearing the exact gown she'd spotted in a shop window (and fitting perfectly!), and waiting to walk down the aisle at last. How was it possible? Was this even real, or had she indeed fallen in the battle, leaving this scene to be the last fevered imagining of her dying brain?

A whiff of chicken-scented breath from the Orcish maid of honor assured Panakeia that this was no dream.

"Go on, then," the Orc half whispered, half giggled. "Best not to keep them waiting."

Panakeia put one foot forward. Even the shoes were perfect - a pair of the very same shining, white, rhinestoned creations she had longed for. Everything was just as she'd imagined it.

But then, in a whirl of skirts and petticoats, she turned and fled without a word, leaving the guests to stare puzzledly after her.

"Gosh," said Lûgnût. "I wonder what that was about."

To be continued...