It was a lovely ceremony. Of course it was.

They had dressed Sanctum Noctis in flowers, in gold thread and pretty pink bows, in veils of perfumed smoke that could not quite mask the ancient scent of prophecy and rot. The rot was not metaphorical or imaginary, it was the putrification of flesh. Time and perfume cannot erase the desecration of these rounds.

But beauty, Taylor knew, was often the final layer of disguise before the bones showed through.

The church itself had not changed as long as Taylor had known it. Not truly. Beneath the silks and sanctimony, this place was still carved of old basalt. This dark stone veined like dead wood, risen from the earth like a blade left too long in salt. The pews creaked like coffins. The air hung thick with forgotten and broken oaths. And the saints above the altar were faceless, just as they had always been, smooth, blind slabs where eyes should have been.
It was not a church of worship. It was a church of warning. A church of prophecy.

Taylor sat with her ankles crossed neatly, her face powdered pale, lips painted red, her gloves delicate lace. She looked like a thing meant to be admired and quickly forgotten.
But inside?

Inside, something snapped.

A fine fissure across the mind. The cracks came with a greater frequency.

It began with a breath. A flicker. A memory not her own. Memories of the old ones, perhaps. Of the temple as it had been when blood still blessed its stone. She could feel them in her marrow, the whispers of her aunties from Norilsk, the rattle of knucklebones in ash, the sizzle of fat on iron. Sanctum Noctis was a holy site, but what was holy to her was not holy to others.

This was just another corpse dressed for Sunday.

Taylor knew the bride, or rather she had met her once before. At a party where no one danced and the wine tasted of rose and regret. They called it a hospital, they said she was recovering. She had been with someone else then. A man with a colder expression, a deeper frown, but one might hope gentler hands. Apparently, that had not worked out. Pity.

Now Harper was marrying a Pride.

Mathias Pride, of all men. Her cousin.

Taylor’s jaw ticked ever so slightly.

She did not like Mathias.

A pompous shit head, she thought coldly, dressed in borrowed nobility. His vows would be as heavy-handed as his politics. His smirk made her want to peel the skin from her face just to avoid breathing the same air.

And not far from where she stood, Gideon simmered.

Gideon, the golden boy gone strange. Gideon, her cousin in name but not in heart. Gideon, who held her wrist too tightly in the carriage, whose breath ran hot with hunger that had nothing to do with food or love.

She had long accepted her place in his game. Let him have it. She would endure. And then she would carve her name into the walls of this church and let the faceless deities grow faces that match her own.

In the back of her mind, the bones whispered.

Any hopeless romantic dreamed of weddings. Their own and others', laughter and love, color schemes, floral arrangements, catering. Dancing with one's friends in a happily-ever-after sort of setting. Watching true love be endowed, forever, unto their hearts and, someday, having that for oneself.

Aly Salinger was that sort of romantic heart, so she'd been dreaming of weddings since she was first old enough to understand what love was. However, she'd never expected that her first guest attendance at such an event would come to pass so soon - or that it would so much resemble a funeral dressed in frilly sheep's clothing.

When the guests had all arrived and been seated, and the eerily everywhere-but-nowhere music shifted into a foreboding tune that had become all too familiar over the months since Winnie's engagement, Aly took in a deep breath and turned to the bride-to-be. She, along with the rest of the processional party, had gathered just outside the doors to the garishly decorated nightmarish main chapel, with its ribboned gargoyles whose eyes seemed to follow you tenfold when your back was turned, but even this little alcove did not provide any safety despite the comfort of three of her closest friends being within. She adjusted the necklace clasped tightly about her slender and otherwise bare neck, diamond-encrusted with a charm for her initial, having been gifted by Winnie just hours before while they had all been getting ready for this pomp and calamity. Despite it all, it reminded her why she was here. Not for weddings or ceremony or romance, but for her friend.

Knowing she was to go down the aisle as the first of the processional, she only had time to offer Winnie a brief smile and reach out to wipe away the tiniest smudge of mascara that had found itself on her Housemate's porcelain skin, just beneath her wide blue eyes. "This bedamned Hardanger's stuff. You know, it says it's waterproof, but I sincerely doubt it sometimes." The offending mark gone, Aly's hand dropped to Winnie's shoulder, giving it a strong, comforting squeeze. "You look beautiful, Win. Truly a vision." She leaned in slightly and dropped her voice to a hum, barely a whisper, just enough for the redhead to hear. "But if you aren't sure, really, we'll be here for you. Hell, if you want me to object, tell me now - last chance." The soon-to-be-seventh-year couldn't help but have a stray thought run through her mind: Hell, I've half a mind to object anyway, no matter the trouble I'd be in because of it...

But it was her turn to go down the aisle, and the music was swelling, and a quick glance into the chapel proved that the pink petals had begun to fall from above, which was her cue. Casting one last wistful smile (which perhaps tended more towards a worried grimace) at her three friends gathered behind her, Aly gathered up all her nerves, steeled herself for hundreds of prying pureblood prick eyes, and entered the chapel.

The walk down the aisle seemed to stretch on for eternity, a never-ending corridor of whispers and gazes and folks decked out in their very best, and the fluffballs of tulle on Aly's shoulders were itching terribly, and a petal managed to land directly on her bare arm just where she could not brush it off without moving and causing a scene, and her shoes were pinchy, and dear Merlin, she was at Winnie's wedding. It still felt like a shock, a dream, a distressing simulation from which she was sure she would wake up at any time. Since Winnie's engagement, plenty of plans and half-jokes and partially baked ideas had been thrown about: let's do this, let's do that, what if someone slips Pride a Forgetfulness Potion, etc., all in the hopes that maybe, just maybe, someday this strangeness would end and Winnie would not become somewhat of a child bride. And yet, for all their sayings and wants and would-have-could-have-should-haves, the day had arrived. There was so little that could actually be done now, other than to stick by Winnie. To protect her from streaky makeup and broken hearts and barbed susurrations. To ride it out.

And, suddenly, Aly was at the end of the aisle. She took her place off to one side and cast a glance at Pride, standing there like a solemn statue, as if it were a funeral after all and he the corpse. Something about his slicked-back ginger hair and overly extravagant black suit was creepy enough, but there was something else, something in his eyes as he stared down the aisle at the now-walking Dee and beyond. Something that made Aly shiver.

Anyone who was willing to propose at fifteen... well, Pride had come leagues in Aly's opinion of him since the engagement, but there was still something so very off about him, about this whole situation.

Upon Dee arriving next to her, Aly softly and stealthily extended her hand downwards to give her best mate's a squeeze whilst everyone else's attention was still focused down the aisle towards the maid of honour and the bride herself. In all their years as practically sisters, they had never thought they would end up here at seventeen. Far too early, and yet, somehow, too late.

@Winnie Harper @Dealla Prince @Evelynn Decipio @Mathias Pride | July 5^th, 2025 | bridesmaid dress | #C47DDB

Dee had failed Winnie. That was all she could think of while taking her place in a ceremony that would not be happening if it had been up to her. Should not be happening, but Dee had been too slow to react - looked away from the proposal during last year's fall ball, unwilling to cause a scene, and too distracted by her own romance to do so, anyway. Whenever she'd tried to talk to Winnie about it afterwards, all she'd gotten was evasion and excuses, and copper hair streaming behind the fleeing Ravenclaw when Dee had tried to press her into answers. So now she was here, nine months later; forcing her face into a smile the same way she had done when she had accepted Winnie's request to be her bridesmaid. How could she have said no? She fixed a copper curl in the already perfect hairstyle, smiled and told Winnie how beautiful she looked. Hugged her tightly, dresses and hair and makeup be damned.

Walking down the aisle was a nightmare in pink. The whole thing screamed Winnie, decorations and dresses and scent, but it seemed to Dee like a coat of paint slathered on to insufficiently hide the horrors beneath, with Mathias sticking out like a sore thumb, a black spider waiting to ensnare their friend even more tightly in his web. The ridiculous puffy tulle sleeves on her bridesmaid's dress itched terribly, and Dee shifted her shoulders in a jerky motion, attempting to get the fabric to move. It didn't work.

It wasn't that she knew Mathias well. Quite the opposite; they'd met only rarely and she was not sure they'd exchanged more than five words before this had started. But what she'd seen of him, she didn't like, and what she'd heard, she liked less. And then the public proposal, less than a month after Winnie had turned sixteen, along with all the other oddities... Yet even if Mathias had been the loveliest person on earth, the Prince Charming Winnie deserved, Dee would not have liked this. Winnie was sixteen; she should not be marrying anyone, for at least five years. (More.) She'd tried to ask her friend this, why they had to marry now, why not wait, why, why, why. She hadn't gotten a satisfying answer.

Dee's gaze swept across the gathered guests as she took her place at the front, off to the side, next to Aly. There was a whispering, ginger-haired group, talking and gawking, that could only be Winnie's family. Students from Hogwarts she recognised strewn throughout, likely friends and classmates, but Dee's eyes ended up on only one person: Gideon Athanatos. While she couldn't have picked him out of a lineup a year ago, that had changed after Winnie had told her what he'd done. Her eyes turned hard, staring at him standing with the groomsmen, before she forced her head away. Winnie had asked her to keep an eye on him, but that hadn't been necessary; Dee would gladly blow the little monster up if he so much as made a wrong move towards Winnie. Her other eye was reserved for glaring at Matt, whenever Winnie wasn't looking. She was playing along, playing nice - but it would only take a hint of something being off, of being more wrong than it already was, for Dee to attempt to put a stop to this.

Straightening up, Dee tried to subtly adjust the sleeve again, and once again failed to make it less itchy, then fixed her gaze on where Winnie should appear. She squeezed Aly's hand, taking solace in the knowledge that her best friend was barely more happy about the situation than she was. Time to get this over with. For Winnie's sake.

@Winnie Harper | @Mathias Pride | @Aly Salinger | @Gideon Athanatos | Dress

Howard had arrived by floo as instructed. A minor convenience in a day that was sure to be full of inconveniences. At least it had saved him the need of trying to travel Muggle London in the middle of the day. His nonhuman features only seemed to become more pronounced with age. Somehow his skin seemed paler and his eyes burned a brighter shade of crimson each year that passed. It clashed with the royal blue suit he was wearing, but not in an unpleasing way depending on how you felt about dhampirs.

He wasted no time in trying to make small talk with people. The building itself left him with an unease that he could not shake and the decoration was jarring to say the least. The vibrant pink that matched the invitation he had received cut through the ancient black stone in a way that he did not care for at all. Why the hell would anyone get married here? One of the many questions that had been running through his mind that day. The other, louder one? Why the hell had he been invited?

Howard had only just opened his new office for business a few weeks prior. New job to soon be approved. Well, the closet that had his name on the door was a more apt description, but he had not expected one of the first mails the owl delivered to be a wedding invitation. More so, he never would have dreamed that he would be invited to this wedding. As he took his seat near the back he spied people that should have made him stand up and run if he had any good sense. He had picked up on Erin's scent before he saw her and then his keen eyes had spotted the Athanatos clan about to marry one of their own off to Winnie Harper.

In his time, Howard had a few, brief run ins with this group of people and the rumors and mystique surrounding them should have kept him away. However, Howard is a young man who can't help himself. For all the things that make him bright and human, he is drawn to the shadows like a vampire mosp to a dark flame...

Stats:
STA - 17 | EVA - 21 | STR - 17 | WIS - 1 | ARC - 0 | ACC - 21

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Interacting: @

Outfit: ✿

Mentioning: @

English | Irish | Internal thoughts

As the music softened and the Cathedral's giant wooden doors groaned open, Winnie felt her stomach lurch violently. The Sanctum Noctus with all it's power and glory seemed to be watching her. Every shadow seemed to loom, each gargoyle seemed to glare.

She stood delicately balancing in satin pink stilettos and a skirt that billowed behind her like a sail, with delicate hand sewn embroidery depicted vines, flowers, and strawberries. It had been the first dress she'd tried on with Mathias but she had sent it to be altered. Madam Selwick had made nothing short of a piece of art, but it probably weighed a good ten to fifteen pounds.

A crown of pale pink roses adorned her head, baby's breath bloomed throughout the copper curls cascading down her back and all the way to her thighs. Her veil was possibly as long as her dress to compensate for the length of her hair, a gossamer banner trailing behind her. Her makeup was soft, feminine, with pink hues and brown mascara and eyeliner instead of the usual harsh black. Dainty pearl, diamond, and pink sapphire jewelry adorned her neck, ears, and wrists.

Don't trip. Don't you dare trip. Not with everyone watching, smile. Her lips pulled back a bit too far as she tried to smile, but her face quickly softened when she felt her mother's squeeze her arm.

"Relax." Saoirse whispered, her warm voice washing over her like a soothing balm, "You look beautiful, Winnie."

Winnie nodded but felt light headed. Her cheek nuzzled against Aly’s palm. Bile stung the back of her throat, threatening to bubble forth as Aly fixed her makeup and suggested it wasn’t too late. She just gave ber friends a trembling smile. She knew they didn’t understand, they probably thought she was crazy. Why? Why get married so young? Why stay with Mathias?

She was too tangled in the threads to be cut loose so easily. She had been dating Mathias since her first year at Hogwarts. She had almost left before, she could remember it. Well, parts of it. Her mind had been scrambled, erased and put back together too many times for her to smooth out all the cracks.

’If I have to tear down every obstacle, burn every bridge, I’ll keep you by my side.’ Mathias’ words last December should have been more chilling, but after a lifetime of feeling left behind and abandoned, Winnie had found comfort in the threat.

It was easy to blame the manipulation, easy to blame the threats, but when push came to shove there was one reason she had not left.

She loved him.

Her breathing came in short gasps. The doorway loomed overhead, the open frame like the mouth of an ancient beast, its silence crushing as if it too were going to ask her, 'are you sure you want to do this?'

I don’t know if I can do this. Pure bloods don’t even have Spotify how am I going to listen to Taylor Swift? Her hand clung tighter to her mother as she watched the progression—her girls—depart down the aisle, there's still time to run, right? I can...

But then the music swelled, the aisle cleared... And she saw him. Mathias.

Her breath returned, the mere sight of him steadying her more than her mother's arm. Gone were her once twisted features of concern. Her face lit up not from the grandeur of the cathedral, but from the relief she felt when she saw him standing at the aisle in his black blood-stitched suit that made him look like gothic nobility. He was so handsome it made her heart leap. The silent softness that grew between them said more than words ever could.

Mattie... Thank Merlin, there you are. She wanted to gather her skirts and hike up her dress train so she could run to him. But she couldn't, the etiquette courses she had endured for the last few rang in her ears. Be graceful. Keep your chin up. Be a lady. None of that was her.

They know, don't they? They know what a phony I am.

Her stomach was fluttering like a cage full of birds as she glided down the aisle. Breathe. Don't show them how broken you are. Smooth it out.

Pink petals caught on the train of her dress. Some caught in her hair, cling to the curls like natural jewelry. Maybe she had gone a bit overboard in her nervous state, but Mathias had given her everything she asked for.

Her eyes didn't leave Mathias until she and her mother had reached the alter and the priest asked who gave this witch away.

"I do." Saoirse said, her voice shaking with emotion. She leaned in to kiss Winnie's cheek, her soft blue eyes, the same as Winnie's, welled with tears as she smiled down at her. It was picture perfect for those who didn't know any better, the people who couldn't hear Saoirse's thoughts screaming that her daughter was too young, this shouldn't be happening, she didn't trust this boy. But he made Winnie happy.

As soon as she released Winnie to go sit down, the Ravenclaw's trembling hands found Mathias' and clung onto him as if he were the only thing anchoring in a storm-tossed sea. "Hi." She whispered.

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The Parks had always been quite the esoteric Manor. Not much was known of the blood's legacy apart from what is chosen to be told. Yet there they were.

Nabi would follow her parents out of the carriage, her expression was as usual, blank. Her mother would be seen telling her husband something in a hushed tone, exchanging a glance before a mild nod. Nabi remained silent, observing them as they appeared to be in a serious conversation when her mother suddenly glanced over to her. A reminder was said, reciprocated by a bow from Nabi. The wind blew gently as they all momentarily stood outside the Sanctum Noctus Cathedral. They were there for a wedding, but not just any wedding.

One of the Athanatos' spawns was to be wed.

And the Parks were not to miss high-profile events.

Nabi's heels clicked beneath the pavement, her fingers touched the heirloom on her waist. A storm hidden behind her gray eyes that shone against the over-jeweled dress her mother had specifically chosen.

Or so she had been told.

With a creak of the grand doors, Nabi walked inside, following her parents, who began to greet those of whom they deemed worthy of their time. Her attention immediately shifted to the light that seeped through the Cathedral's stained glass. A tune echoed and filled the area around her. Nabi hummed softly to herself as she began to look around, her eyebrow raising as she noticed the pink decor that stained the otherwise ancient Cathedral.

There was something about ancient knowledge that drew Nabi in, the whispers of forgotten secrets that rested while they waited to be uncovered. The secrets this Cathedral must hold... Her eyes soon found a certain fool whom she had been certain was striving to avoid her like the plague, his hands behind his back as he stood like some sort of emperor. Narrowing her eyes, Nabi would attempt to focus on something else.

Zeroing in on a familiar face.

The smell of ash engulfed her senses as she looked at the boy of blonde hair. His attention was on someone else, a girl she had never seen before. Her jaw clenched slightly as her right hand would curl into a loose fist. She would not cause a scene, Nabi knew better. Instead, she would continue to observe the guests as they began to enter, noticing a group of people that stuck out like a sore thumb. Merlin... are they scared? She did not know who they were, but she took note of the two girls who matched in attire.

Nabi was looking around for her parents when the music changed, signaling the ceremony's commencement. A hand would raise slightly as it gestured for Nabi to move closer, without a word, she would make her way closer to the source.

Expecting it to belong to one of her parents.

She would not look, sitting down quickly as soon as she heard the doors groan open. Nabi's head would turn slightly as she watched the girl who adorned herself in pink during their days at the Beauxbatons' cabins walk down the aisle. Oh.. so this young lady is marrying into the family... the dress is well done.

Nabi turned to look at where the groom was, seeing the barbaric teen who had been yelling in rage at the same cabin back then.

Convincing your muggle dad to enter into the den of the family that had falsely accused you of murder, while also convincing you that you were some kind of monster was going about as well as one might expect. Furthermore, convincing him that it was for the marriage of, what practically constituted as, children, well you can see where the trouble began. Honestly Matthew had thought it a lost cause from the minute the invitation had arrived at his window, the owl gratefully treating itself from the small feeder Patrick had installed for their now regular presence in the Campbell life. At first, Matthew had been entirely correct and the suggestion was so delusional it caused hysterics but then quite suddenly things changed and the pair found themselves renting the very kilts they so handsomely wore today.

What had caused such a irregular 360 was unclear but Matthew was quite sure his step father, Sean, held that merit. Regardless, proper wedding attire adorned, a morbidly long bus ride to London endured, and a fantastical adventure of the London Underground achieved, they had arrived. The gothic architecture of the Sanctum Noctis stole away Matthew's breath as it towered into the sky all dark stone, engraved with age, shaped with time. It was in no way traditionally beautiful but by god it was a wonder to behold. Without even having to step inside the towered walls screamed Athanatos, in fact from the looks of the statues and gargoyles Matthew found himself questioning how many Athanatos screams still etched themselves within the walls.

Still, Matthew could not deny the awe he found in its rich history. That same draw that so dangerously pulled him in was the very one Gideon had lured him into; a being just as complex and compelling as the structure though undoubtedly more dangerous. A being that would be stood behind those grand doors along with his twit of a brother and whatever spawned their brood. Clasping his hand more tightly around his own father's he looked up at him to gage Patrick's reaction. As an artist, Matthew knew Patrick would be surveying the church with just as much enthusiasm as himself and the passion he saw in his eyes lit them so alike his own that Matthew's heart swooned.

"You doing okay bud?" Patrick's rich Scottish accent was so full of vigour and confidence that it alone instilled some within his son. "Yeah, thanks for letting us come Da. I know it's not very normal to us but I guess this is a part of my world now and I don't want that to mean losing you." A crushingly timid smile told Patrick the depth of what this invite meant to his son and while Matthew had his grand share of reservations for attending, he no longer wished to live in the shadow, feeling unworthy of this world. Wrapping his son in a tight embrace he swept a loose brown curl away from his ear and whispered, "You could never lose me Matty, lets get inside!"

Inside the archaic grandeur doubled only now the far more lively touch of the girl he had met in France burst to life. While others likely thought the décor lacked tact or seemed disjointed, Matthew saw the union of two souls, utterly different but both present. In truth he didn't know much about the pair other than her proclivity towards pink and their proclivity towards screaming at him but it made him smile just the same. Matthew very much doubted the uptight Athanatos family would approve of such ghastly bright accents but surely that only further proved the couples love. Mathias was willing to give Winnie everything and that was truly something special. Trailing his finger down the thin lines of pastel pink he had spelled into their Campbell tartan he felt satisfied in his choice.

Such satisfaction would be short lived as he and his father faced the aisle in approach to sit middling on the brides side. That blonde hair, so perfectly styled it could practically cut diminished under the harsher blade of his eyes that so dangerously bore down on another familiar figure. From the distance Matthew could not tell much about what Taylor Athanatos had done to beguile such a chilling glare but whatever it was, no doubt meant trouble. Trouble she had warned him of, had she not followed her own advice he wondered quietly to himself. Feeling himself grow anxious at just the mere presence of the company Matthew decided to stop observing and took his place by his father's side.

The music echoed through the church like the quite harmonic accompaniment of angels. Step by step the bridesmaids entered looking as radiant as mother nature with their dresses while delicate petals drifted from the ceiling. Yet all paled in comparison when Winnie Harper stepped foot into the aisle, her face growing brighter and more resolved in every step towards her love. Every eye locked on her and for a second Matthew forgot all about the wolves that lay among them. The many whisperings he had caught of how a lower blood could reach such heights for she was dazzling. The picture perfect bride who had not dimmed herself under their retorts. Winnie was remarkable.

Matthew's smile blinded him entirely to the gaunt horrors of his father's disbelief for he was so enraptured by the moment. The young boy had only been to one wedding before but this one reminded him of a moment he only knew in photographs and poor camera footage. The wedding of his mum and dad. Tearing up slightly he hugged himself into his father's side and found his eyes drifting back to the golden haired boy only to find himself wondering why? Why he was so drawn to someone who had done nothing but hurt him? Their whole family was to be avoided but here, today, Winnie proved that wrong. Still Winnie was a glimpse into a path he dared not follow; but as much as he tried to deny it, it was one that all roads seemed to lead.

Note: Users can catch up. This is scripted mostly. The reception is where everything happens.

❤︎❤︎❤︎

Reducio

Winnie Harper would emerge through the doors of the Sanctum. She would be met with the face of almost every person she knew as well as so many more. The venue was packed for the sake of both the bride and the groom. This event had become a whose-who of the wizarding world.

All eyes were of course on the young bride. When Winnie reached the altar, she would find her bridesmaids and groomsmen waiting for her. Mathias was watching her with those calculating hazel eyes. A priest burdened by the weight of a great tome would nod in greeting. The priest wore the vestments of his faith, robes of deep amaranth, a hue someplace between dusk and blood. The fabric moved like smoke along the bottom hem. These were not the robes of a humble man, these ceremonial robes were made from charmed wool and testral spun thread. At first glance, the robes might appear plain but under candlelight the patterns of ancient runes and augural symbols shimmered faintly.

Plot Hook Seers: A viewer touched by foresight (Seer) would be able to read the following:

“In the dusk of the world, where breath first shivered, the thread was cast.”

“One soul for the light, one for the dark, one to be bound, one to break.”

The mantle set upon the robes was jet-black, trimmed with pale gold thread and delicate gilded embroidery in the shape of a thousand closed eyes. A pin made of blackened metal, perhaps iron, in an image similar to an ouroboros held the mantle in place.

About the waist, the sash. This corded band was half crimson, half bone-white Where the two colors meet, the thread seems to glow faintly. The priest wore leather gloves not unlike those worn by the former heir, but these were smaller. One hand donned a single silver ring and the other bore a sigil on the finger that was burned into the glove itself. From a distance, the symbols were not obvious. Their headpiece was a black square, flat-topped hat with a half-veil that was as sheer as spider's silk, embroidered with a silvery thread. It concealed the eyes slightly, but not entirely.

The priest appeared to be quite old, as old as the Athanatos patriarch at the very least. His eyes, an amber color that seemed almost golden in the candlelight. He smiled at the bride this thin, long smile that seemed almost predatory if he was not a man of the cloth.

The priest would speak, his voice like leaves brushing over stone on an autumn day. Raspy and persistent, but strong enough that the acoustics carried his words to the back row.

"We have all gathered here today beneath sky and spell, bound by ancient rite and common yearning to witness a joining older than any one name, older than even love." He gestured towards the young pair.

"Today two souls stand at the threshold: Mathias Pride and Winnie Harper, are at the precipice of making an irrevocable bond. They are here to not merely declare affection but to offer themselves willingly to the solemn alchemy of union. And though we call this a celebration, we dress it in music and perfume and flowers," he let them breathe in the air laden with sweet perfume that did not seem to be long in a place of ancient legacy. Let none of us truly forget what this truly is. This is the witnessing of a promise. A vow. And a vow is not a gentle thing. It is a contract, a binding, a sacrifice." This was the word of the old gods, the ones that fed blood to the first trees to slake their thirst. Those that sing the old songs, hear the whispers of prophecy from a time when there was no past, only future.

"In other times, other places, centuries before now; those that stood where you stand on this celebrated day were not adorned in silk and standing upon crushed petals. Rather they were marked in ash and bone. The joining was not of affection but rather an omen made tangible. It was about power. A prophecy fulfilled, fate written." The words felt heavy.

"And so dear guests, when you throw your grains of rice, crush those petals underfoot, smell that sweet scent of dying roses and raise your glasses, know this: something is being given up today." There was a theme of sacrifice rather than growth, fidelity or togetherness. This binding meant something different to these gods. "The selves that they once were will be left behind. With this union they become one and will be seen. Their ancestors known and unknown are listening. The stones beneath our feet are old and they remember every name spoken here, even in tongues we have long forgotten. The basalt remembers every vow whispered or broken. And in that rememberance there is judgement and that is our legacy." A pause.

"As well as our blessing, Our fate."

For those that offer themselves fully. That bleed willingly into the chalice of devotion" there was that mention of blood again "and honor, they may find something rare. Not safety or even fidelity, but the truth. And so we draw this circle on stone-built earth around these two souls and we prepare the threads of fate that shall forever bind them.

I must ask us all: are we bearing witness to only love, the illusion of it? Or are we holding true to fate. Perhaps both. But now, we must let silence fall like a veil over us, mere observers to the fate and let the vow begin."

NOVA!
RAVENCLAW | YEAR 2 | OUTFIT
#781818 | 05.07.2025 | WC 973