Brielle rushed out of the closet with my palest gray dress. “This is the closest thing she has to a blue.” It wasn’t even close to blue. Certainly not the bold, vibrant colors that most brides wore on their wedding days. The dress was almost white. The color we clothed the dead. The color we wore to funerals. “Absolutely not,” Margot clipped. “It’s perfect.” I stood from the bench, and before Margot could take it from Brielle’s hand, I snagged it and carried it behind the dressing screen. “It’s not blue,” Margot said. “It’s good enough.” “We must have already packed your blue gowns.” I scoffed
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