Regina Saxony
on the topic of churches
Regina couldn’t stand the stuffiness of church. The large ornate cathedrals with their tacky sculptures and their large, gaudy paintings and architecture. Ironically, it was the only place Ilya thought excess was acceptable, and she uncharacteristically disagreed and preferred a more modest church.
Nevertheless, she stood in front of the wrinkled priest alongside Ilya, who sat in a gold painted chair.
“Ms. Saxony, I haven’t seen you in a while, child,” The old withered man lies a hand on her silken shoulder.
As a girl she dreamed of pearls opulently sewn into the pure white of the silk, the small stones creating a trellis with rhinestones glittering at the bodice. Gossamer, lace, taffeta, a gown fit for a pretentious tsarina. Her man was a handsome prince with bright sapphires for eyes that glimmered with the slightest of light or any peak of interest. That used to be the case with Ilya, but what he experienced on that battleship hardened him to the point his eyes only glistened with the thin sheen of tears. “Yes Father, it has been a while but I hope it is understandable,” Regina bites her lip. When she was a little girl, she also didn’t imagine her prince being this broken, this helpless.
She didn’t imagine a lot of things to be the way they were. Yet, as the cold whips at our backs, we are only reminded that this world is a rather shit place and the only thing that can reprimand that truth is our personal outlook.
And the world was painfully beautiful to Regina Volkova.
Nevertheless, she stood in front of the wrinkled priest alongside Ilya, who sat in a gold painted chair.
“Ms. Saxony, I haven’t seen you in a while, child,” The old withered man lies a hand on her silken shoulder.
As a girl she dreamed of pearls opulently sewn into the pure white of the silk, the small stones creating a trellis with rhinestones glittering at the bodice. Gossamer, lace, taffeta, a gown fit for a pretentious tsarina. Her man was a handsome prince with bright sapphires for eyes that glimmered with the slightest of light or any peak of interest. That used to be the case with Ilya, but what he experienced on that battleship hardened him to the point his eyes only glistened with the thin sheen of tears. “Yes Father, it has been a while but I hope it is understandable,” Regina bites her lip. When she was a little girl, she also didn’t imagine her prince being this broken, this helpless.
She didn’t imagine a lot of things to be the way they were. Yet, as the cold whips at our backs, we are only reminded that this world is a rather shit place and the only thing that can reprimand that truth is our personal outlook.
And the world was painfully beautiful to Regina Volkova.
♠ ♠ ♠
if I read it correctly, when you marry someone in Russia, you take on the feminine form of their last name. I'm trying to make it as Russian as possible without it being too much or too stereotypical.(and this story does skip around a lot, it'll all tie together nicely in the end)