Lucia

I am in the bridal chamber with Lucia, Lussi’s female form. She has platinum hair, soft, ethereal features, small breasts like hills of milk, and is dressed in blue violet robes. 

She looks at me inquisitively, then gently pets my wrist. Transfixed, the spell of her beauty breaks, and I continue to adorn her, lighting her tallows aflame: candles shine in her hair, white tapers arranged in an ivy Lussinight wreath that I have gently braided into the cornsilk strands of her crown. She sits silently like a queen, a translucent black veil over her albino face. She stares into the mercury of her mirror, and waits bemusedly as I powder her brow. 

My wife looks like a China doll from the Eastern lands father once brought back to me from one of his far flung mercantile trips to the Oni. All of the humor of Lussinight has left her, her bravado and jokes and tricks, vanquished by a sicksleep wind. 

She dreads this as much as I do, her Harrowings. Luci