Far Horizons: Tales of Sci-Fi, Fantasy and Horror. Issue #13 April 2015 | Page 173

were pushed open from the outside and a man’s voice
carried clearly from the entryway.

a man’s face surrounded by a glowing halo. The face
belongs to the son of our Lord God, Jesus Christ.”

“Forgive me Father, but I must lodge my objections to
this union!”

The groom undid his jacket and shirt to expose his left
upper arm. The bride turned her face away until he
had the jacket and shirt clasped below his armpit. She
was curious now and stepped around to his left side.
He lifted his arm with his hand in front of him and she
gasped.

The priest was a kindly man who adjusted his spectacles and smiled.
“Then come forward and speak, my son.”
The protestor came forward and everyone’s attention
was on him as he walked up the aisle between the
rows of pews. He had blond hair pulled back at the
nape of his neck, was dressed in the finest silks and
brocades money could buy and his eyes were locked
on the confused groom.
“My objection is simple. The bride is marrying the
wrong man.”
Stunned gasps were quickly silenced by the bride’s
question.
“Whatever do you mean, sir?”
The protestor smiled faintly. “My dear lady, forgive
my intrusion but this man is not your intended husband Reginald Potterfield. He is my oldest and dearest
friend, he grew up in Marshlight Village and his name
is Brian Fairchild.”
The would-be groom looked at the protestor and
squinted slightly. The bride was very confused now.
“He told me he was Reginald Potterfield. How is it
that you believe he is your friend?”
The left side of the protestor’s mouth curled up in a
half-smile and it set his eyes to twinkling. The expression disappeared quickly though.
“I am certain he is my old friend, milady. On the outside of his left upper arm is a t &