Her smile, like a wall's crooked crack (гет)

"Her smile, like a wall's crooked crack / In childhood homes, locked doors unlatched / I'd follow her down the darkest path / I'm a door mouse and she's the cat." - Honeyblood, 'She's a Nightmare'
The bride wore a pearl in her eye for her wedding day, and that was the least unusual thing about the whole affair.
Had one told Cregan that he would begin the year one-hundred-and-twenty-eight after Aegon’s Conquest welcoming the birth of his son, with Arra red-faced and sweaty and laughing in the birthing bed, and end it with his fierce wife dead in her tomb under the halls of Winterfell and a stranger standing beside him before the heart tree, he would have laughed and laughed and then drawn steel.
As it stood, no one was laughing save perhaps the gods, now. He glanced at his second wife again, as if he might have mistaken the pearl the first time. No, it was most certainly there. Besides the pearl, which was slightly crusted with blood and pus, and the horrific scarring that laced down the right side of her face, she was almost pretty.