Clara felt déjà vu wash over her as she became caught in the folds of time. Her skin, wrinkled with age, became taught and smooth, liver spots shrinking into freckled birthmarks on the back of her sun-kissed hands. Her small fingers twisted blonde hair over and under while her sister fidgeted below her.
“Sit still, Hannah!”
“I’m trying! Are you done yet?”
“Almost.” Clara reached down to pick another dandelion from the field. She wove the golden strands around the flower, trying her best to hold tight as they slipped through her slender fingers and stuck out at odd ends.
Clara snapped back to the present, her wrinkled hands still grasping her granddaughter’s golden hair. They sat facing the ornate dressing room mirror, white from head to toe.
“Are you done?”
“Almost.” She fished a white rose from the wedding bouquet and slipped it gracefully into Hannah’s hair. Perfect.