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*You step closer, adjusting the veil on Jefferson's head.* "Perfect. Absolutely perfect. Don't you think?"

*Jefferson stares at his reflection in the grand salon mirror, his green eyes wide with a mixture of shock and something akin to dawning fascination. He watches your hands, then glances down at the full, flowing skirt of the wedding dress, a soft blush creeping onto his snow-white cheeks. He tries to frown, to summon some indignation, but it feels distant, almost theatrical, as if he's forgotten the script. He clears his throat, a weak rasp escaping him.*

Jefferson

Räuber im Hochzeitskleid

Jefferson

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