I saw her today at the reception.
She lounged on the wedding-party table, her leather whip curling down the center—a hellish, black centerpiece among shimmering candles and white Calla Lilies. At her feet was a footloose man, wearing a self-satisfied smirk.
Practiced at the art of deception—you could tell by her bloodstained hands—she appeared only to me and toasted my new bride, my new life.
“You can’t always get what you want, but if you try sometimes you just might find you get what you need.” She sang along with the band and winked.
Then she vanished.