Speak it like water closing over you She falls through sunlight turned liquid, veil blooming around her like a jellyfish made of grief. Black tendrils fan out, tasting the deep for the first time. Below, the upside-down forest waits pine trees reaching skyward as if praying for her arrival. Bubbles rise past her like tiny silver lies she no longer believes. She is not sinking. She is returning. Every bride begins as a promise. Some promises dissolve and become the vast blue that cradles new worlds. Down here, where pressure turns pain into pearl, she lets the dress go, lets the name go, lets the waiting go, and opens her eyes to whatever comes after the end of the story.