On the corner of Hookside and Lodgeside, there is a lone pawn shoppe, where few Suvian citizens stop to explore. The proprietors are lonesome and weary folks, unlikely to speak to anyone who rings the entrance bell. Most boxes on the first floor are full of normal pawned items. Old books, mysterious pipes and tools, even a fork or two. Most stop here, leaving the store and returning to the streets by which they dwell.
Once in a while, a soul may find the staircase in the back. It is a cramped, dusty elevation, with cracked yellowed wallpaper and dull incandescent lights. The steps would creak as they walked up to the unknown, waiting to see if this too would be a red herring.
The lights of the second floor are smooth and with a tinge of blue. The traveler may blink as they emerge, with the return of sight revealing an unusual sight. Wedding gowns, arranged in rows, standing rigid and still as the dust and age roll by.
The first one is blackened with age, accompanied by pockmarked gloves and a blood red veil. It has been here for many years, but has not been worn for even longer
She waited at the altar, praying for his return. He never did. War claimed another life, her life and his. When she found of his fate, she attacked soldiers in the Fredigo province and was skewered by a militiamans blade.
A petite blue dress, with embroidery of lilacs. The gloves are a pure white, with a cyan tinged veil. A layer of dust has settled and ingrained itself into the soft cloth.
She waited for her new husband, watching him as he was assisted to the altar. His face was speckled with warts, moles and crevices that seemed to have been eroded by the rivers of time itself. His lame hand hung weakly at his side. She looked over at her parents, and they nodded eagerly
"You may now kiss the bride…"
The many layers of the dress have sagged in time, turning a pallid green in color. The fingertips of the gloves have been worn away by use, with a black-red stain burrowing into the thin pallid veil. It sags forward on its stand, ready to collapse.
… It hurt. There was blood in her fingers, running down the evening gloves. Look up, see him standing. So much hate contempt disgust he's walking away follow can'f follow the blood is coming through too much blood it hurts so much why did you hurt me
it doesn't hurt anymore
At the end of the hall is a pair of rings, sitting in a plush case. The pillow is threadbare and faded, with a glass case cracked and tarnished. The rings are almost as old as the case, but have a golden sheen dimly glinting under a layer of decay. There is an old inscription on the petite inner band, waiting for a wearer.
We vow we shall love together in harmony, as long as we both shall live.