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It seemed utterly impossible.
It was a perfectly preserved wedding dress.
And it wasreal…
The whole concept of brides and weddings and marriages had been lost to the past, a backwards tradition of the old world that the world had turned away from centuries ago. There were no husbands and wives, no children brought up within a family unit. Not anymore. Those had all been eliminated long ago.
It was for the greater good. Domestic violence had become a thing of the past. Society was more productive as a whole when they focused on work rather than everything that came with relationships of that kind.
Procreation was something that was left up to the scientists of the world now. There was no need for a human woman to carry a child, not when the invention of the artificial womb had been discovered more than a hundred years ago. Its utilization had eliminated any sort of common medical issues that a pregnant woman might encounter, be it an injury, sickness, or at worst, a miscarriage. Children were designed and created on an as-needed basis. As a result, many various disabilities and sicknesses had been long since eliminated.
The world was a better place because of it.
That didn’t change my fascination with the past, however. If anything, it probably amplified it.
I stared at the gorgeous relic, fascinated with the intricately sewn lace and bead detail. The top of the gown was designed in an off the shoulder style, with long sleeves made of thin lace. The bodice was a beautiful heart shape lined with a cream-colored material. At the waist, there was a belt of silk with a delicately tied bow at the center. My gaze drew down to the embroidered skirt and the mountains of tulle beneath it.
The gown reminded me of the dress Cinderella had worn to the king’s ball, except white rather than blue. I’d found a physical copy of the movie in the museum archives, a video cassette tape that I’d painstakingly repaired. I’d watched it several times on a restored projector in secret before it had been confiscated by the protectors, a force dedicated to keeping potentially disturbing old-world content from the public.
I still yearned to watch it again to this day, years later.
The dress was pristine. The plastic garment bag must have acted as a thick barrier, keeping it safe from the elements, the extremes of nature and the advance of insatiable insects that would have destroyed such a beautiful thing. With a heavy sigh, I folded it back up and placed it to the side, tracing my fingers over its surface.
The crate had been shipped from somewhere outside of the desert in the southwest corner of North America. I sniffed the contents and sneezed. It was still dusty.
Several of the books beneath the dress were covered with a thick layer of it.
I rifled through the books inside. Many of them were falling apart. Several of the paperbacks were held together by no more than a thread. Many of them appeared to be of the romance genre, a type of book that had fallen out of favor long ago.
One book in particular caught my eye. It was wrapped in a plastic cover and there were several dainty white doilies on the front of it. I knelt on the floor and sat back on my heels, placing it in my lap before opening it to the first page.
It was a wedding album of the very dress I’d been holding in my hands no more than a minute ago.
The woman who had worn it had been beautiful. I knew that she was probably long dead by now, but that didn’t mean anything in that moment. The happiness on her face said everything.
I traced her smile with my finger. I yearned to feel joy like that.
Her long red hair was styled in a partial up-do, her tight ringlets framing her face exquisitely. Bright green eyes shone into the camera as she locked hands with a man in a black suit beside her. I knew enough to guess that it was probably taken some time in the late 1900s or very early 2000s, but I couldn’t be certain. I turned the page, biting my lip to keep my fascinated sigh quiet. I gasped, seeing that the next photos appeared to be captured images from the ceremony itself.
It had been outdoors, rather than in a church like many of the vague references I’d come across in my past work. The brilliant blue of the ocean was in the background, the soft white sandy beach beneath their feet. At least fifty chairs were organized to either side of a carpet-lined aisle. Page after page documented the bride walking down the aisle, the exchanging of rings, the kiss that tied the two together as man and wife.
I sighed.Husbandand wife.
My heart fluttered in my chest.
It was the most definitive evidence of an old-world wedding that I’d ever come across in my life. I kept going, wanting to see everything. After the ceremony, the happy couple went off on a journey of sorts. I wasn’t certain which locations they visited, but the regions appeared mountainous and perhaps somewhat Mediterranean. I’d have to do some research to be sure. Maybe what was once Italy or maybe even Greece?
Those places were underwater now.
When I got to the end of the picture album, I paused at the last several pages. The pictures had turned more candid and far more sensual than the rest. One pictured the redheaded woman standing in a corner, her hands on the back of her head. Another was of her lying on the bed, with her lacey panties pulled down in the back, revealing her bare bottom rather salaciously.
She looked nervous. Why would she be nervous?
I swallowed, suddenly anxious that I’d come across something infinitely more dangerous than just evidence of an old-world wedding.
Without breathing, I turned the page once more.
There were only three more pictures, but they were the most shameful things I had ever seen. In the first one, she was over her husband’s knee, completely naked.
