Five years later
"It's beautiful," I whisper, fingers running down the white lace. I turn back and forth in front of the mirror, a smile curving on my lips as I trace the intricate patterns and stones embroidered into my wedding dress.
"No," Soraya says, fixing the last lock of black hair into place. "You make everything beautiful, Hermione. Draven won't be able to take his eyes off you."
My reflection stares me back in the mirror and it doesn't matter how hard I search. I can no longer find any bit of Guinevere in me.
I have killed my past self so brutally, not even a shred of that lowly, pathetic existence remains.
Plastic surgery.
Hair dye.
Contacts.
A thorough work out regimen and training so I could never be weak again had toned my curves and whatever softness I had left in my body into something hard. Elegant. Lean. Strong. My poise had changed. My voice had changed. I didn't smile the same. My old mannerisms were gone.
