Finn Lynch lives a quiet, tranquil life in a rural village in the mountains. Her life may lack spontaneity and excitement, but at least it's peaceful. And if it's a little lonely too, then she can't complain too much - she's still happy, after all.
...
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five years later
"My love," Regulus calls through the bathroom door. "Are you nearly ready?"
For a moment, there's no reply. He's about to knock again when Finn's voice answers him, muffled and hard to hear through the solid wood of the door.
"I've changed my mind." She calls. "I'm not going."
Regulus' lips curve up before he can stop them, and he ducks his head and ends up smiling at his feet like an idiot. "What's wrong this time?"
"My hair is a disaster."
"I'm sure it's lovely." Regulus leans against the wall and watches the door. In the crack between the door and the floor, he can see her shadow moving as she paces the bathroom floor.
"Oh, that's easy for you to say." He can tell from her tone of voice that she's working herself up into a rant. "Your hair is always perfect! Perfect hair, perfect teeth, perfect skin — you don't even have freckles!"
"You have enough freckles for both of us." He calls back easily, thinking of the soft spray of freckles that curve over her shoulder. His fingers twitch by his side — he longs to touch her, and he's beginning to seriously resent the door for keeping her away from him.
"Fuck off!"
His lips twitch again, and he brings his hand up to rub at his mouth in an attempt to rid himself of the smile. It doesn't work — it never does.
"Come out, my love." He calls softly, entreatingly.
Finn doesn't reply, but Regulus is a patient man. He's had to be, his whole life. He knows when not to push, so he just waits. His patience is rewarded after only a moment; there's a quiet scuffling sound from inside the bathroom, and then the lock on the door clicks.
Regulus pushes himself off the wall and waits eagerly as the bathroom door is pulled open. Finn steps out, and Regulus feels his smile freeze on his face.
"Kreacher helped me into the bleedin' corset," She mumbles, tugging at the material around her waist. "And he only called me a disgrace to the House of Black twice! Big improvement, I think."
He's staring like an absolute imbecile, but she doesn't seem to notice. She never seems to notice how he looks at her, to his mingled relief and chagrin, but right now he can't tear his eyes away from her.
The gown ripples like water, clinging to every curve and contour of her body. It looks like the dress has been cut from the night sky itself, crystals glinting like stars across the dark fabric. The corseted waist is boned, the neckline low-cut but classy, and it puffs out at the waist with billowing taffeta underskirts. The corset pushes her breasts up so that they're almost spilling out the top of her dress, and Regulus can't pull his eyes away.
