Ally's POV

　　The evening air clings to my skin like a second coat, heavy with the scent of pine and impending rain. In my hand rests a stack of parchment invitations, their edges curling like leaves in autumn, each bespeaking the union of two souls intertwined by fate- or so the gilded letters claim. My pulse keeps time with the rustle of paper, a metronome of anxiety as I make my way through the village, distributing promises of merriment and celebration.

　　I pause ...