Cyncerely Yours

by Eileen Wilks

  With Mrs. Ryerson gone, the rest of the wedding may have seemed anticlimactic to their guests, most of whom did return for the ceremony. Not to Cynna. Ghosts and angry dragons were nowhere near as scary as the point when Father Michaels finished his homily, turned to Cullen, and asked him the “till death do you part” question.

  They were holding hands, facing each other. Cullen smiled slowly and said simply, vehemently, “Yes.”

  Not “I do.” Just “yes.” That nearly sent her into giggles, but then it was her turn.

  “Do you, Cynna Weaver— ack!” Father Michaels jumped back.

  A short, bald orange female in a fuchsia robe, turquoise tights, and a yellow belt studded with emeralds had popped into existence beside the priest. “Am I late?” Gan asked anxiously. “Did I miss anything?”

  Cynna couldn't hold back her laughter. “Nothing important,” she managed. “We’ re just getting to the good part.” Which was true in so many ways.

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