Italian Wedding Steps

No one knew why they were called wedding steps. No one had ever been married there, and rumor had it that the one occasion a wedding almost occurred, it ended in tears and vomiting. Sylvia sat on the wedding steps, allowing the warm Italian breeze fill her lungs with the stillness of today and the sorrows of yesterday. She touched one. Whose feet had scurried down this rustic stone, jilted and guilty? She wondered if the bride had fallen and cut herself, a bloodied Cinderella, a crimson trickle lost in the crevice of the rock. The calm air murmured, perhaps.