Sparkling Black

The black sparkled, and was intense against the burnt orange it lay beside. Night sky beside pumpkins. Hallows Even, the return of the Spirits, the night of Elements, summed up in those two colours.
The colours lifted, and slid over my head in a rustle of cloth. The majority of the fabric was the sparkling vivid black, and the edging and neckline were several inches of the vibrant orange. I swallowed, my heavily painted lips parting. The red on my mouth reminded me of vampire kisses, the red of the apples, ready for candying, the rich sweetness of the syrups, and the fall leaves drifting on the cool breezes.
I took a step forward, the black heels I had spent months practicing walking in thudding against the floor. Curls of my light brown hair hit the back of my neck. The skirt that dragged out for several yards and ended in a sharp point tugged against my legs. Pale fingers brushed over the satiny black skirt. Another step. I blinked, my eyelids nearly sticking together with all the decoration they wore. Another step. The heels thudded, the skirt pulled, and the jingle of copper wire from my earrings trembled on my earlobes.
The great wooden doors opened before me as I continued to take steps forward, carefully measured, slowly executed.
I continued down the orange runner on the stone floor, one heavy step at a time. The hundreds of people there bowed and curtsied, even knelt as I passed by. The sound of harpstrings filled the air, though the jingle of my earrings was still louder.
I lifted my hand, the dark red of my nails stark against my pale fingers and the black cloth I wore. I watched as my hand slid into his hand, warm and large. Wide, hard, comforting. A soft smile was directed at me, and I saw his brown eyes. I could not smile back, though I should. Taking the final steps, I stood beside him, and faced forward.
He wore black, with the orange edging. Black boots encased his feet, rising up to his kneecaps, shiny shiny black leather.
I could only hear my light breath, gently huffing through my lips, as the words were said, and our hands were joined. A cloth of orange with intricate blackwork was laid over our clasped hands, and the final sentence rang out with finality.
As the cheers went up, I turned to face the crowd, my hand caught in his, and we began the long walk back down the aisle together. Step by thudding step.
The skirt pulled, the black sparkled, the earrings jingled, and curls repeatedly hit the back of my neck.
But none of it mattered. All of it registered dimly, as through a haze.
I was married to a man I knew nothing about.