She spread the tablecloth, her gnarled bitten fingers combing out the wrinkles in the fabric. This was an old piece of fabric, it was her mother's...or her grandmother's...she couldn't remember anymore, not that it mattered. She went to the dresser and collected up some saucers, thin and bony as herself she mused. There was a delicate flower pattern etched out in each saucer. As she placed them deliberately on the table, she noticed how well they represented spring flowers poking up through the snow of the white tablecloth. She clutched her hands, stared at the table and then moved back to the dresser. She carefully took down the elegant cups...always too elegant to drink out of she had thought...and made her way back to the table. Her numb foot caught on the edge of the carpet and she stumbled. One of the cups tumbled out of her hands and smashed on the floor. She didn't fall, which was a blessing, but the cup was now spread out into a thousand tiny shards on the thin faded carpet. She frowned, but continued to the table. She set the cups...her wedding present...her mother's...some other long gone bride...she couldn't remember, but the cups were placed reverently onto saucers. One saucer was left expecting, she looked over at the dresser, and she looked down at the broken cup. She smoothed down her dress. It would have to do...she was ready.
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