The mournful piano music. The ghostly echoes of clicking camera shutters. Meghan clutching her moonbump; Harry with an acoustic guitar. Smiling bed-head selfies; laughing, holding hands. So in love, so spontaneous, so golden... and so much like a really annoying advert for life insurance.The mood turns dark. Meghan, hair scraped into a bun, weeping cross-legged in a white chair next to a white orchid. The sound of a flashbulb exploding, and – oh, look – here’s the looking thunderous, her mouth downturned, her expression hard.Next to her is the Queen Consort, also unsmiling. Pointedly behind them sits Meghan, a vision of angelic purity in white (like the orchid, get it?), oppressed and marginalised by her wicked stepmother and sister-in-law.
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