Gideon Athanatos stood alongside his cousin and his brothers, an honored groomsman standing there for the sake of appearance and ceremony. The chamber smelled roses, old wood, and rain-damp stone. An attempt to mask the ancient nature of the Sanctum. At least he could not detect the scent of frankincense or sage, smelly ingredients meant to sanctify a place not meant to be cleansed.

The priest's voice filled the church with ceremonial gravity. His vestments shimmered strangely under the flicker of the eternal flame, glyphs breathing in and out as though they had lungs of their own. The words were as old as salt: “In the dusk of the world, where breath first shivered, the thread was cast.” Threads of fate, these strange crimson threads that tied the past, present and future. The same threads that Seers were able to manipulate. “One soul for the light, one for the dark, one to be bound, one to break.” He wondered if Pride was illiterate in addition to being stupid.

Gideon should have been watching the ceremony, but his eyes were fixed elsewhere. On Taylor, the one that was supposed to be his. The one he had staked his claim in because he saw a madness in her. A cruelty hidden beneath a placid, amicable, even comely facade. It was like looking into a mirror.

She was seated in the front row, veil of composure drawn tight over something unwell. Her hands trembled when they thought themselves unobserved. A twitch beneath the eye. An unnatural stillness where none should be. It was not fear. Not quite.

It was the Change. Not the symbolic change spoken of in poems and vows, in adventures that explored the coming of age. No, this change was ancestral, corporeal. A creeping, hollowing. Hag-made. The very thing that had taken Erin and left her not-quite-whole, a twisted psalm of their bloodline’s cruelty. And now it was coming for Taylor. Of course it was. It always came for the clever ones. The curious ones. The women who dreamed too vividly.

Gideon’s jaw clenched. He would not allow it.

He was not even challenged by the change any longer. The metamorphic process was a puzzle already solved. There were means to end the change that did not result in death. Ways to mitigate the damage, the harm, the creeping madness that had fractured his cousin. He was angry with Taylor who knew of the change. They had explained it vividly. They knew how to break the transformation, expel the infectious slug and she had done nothing. He sneered at the young woman he perhaps over-estimated.

He prayed a silent prayer. “Bound in witness, consecrated in prophecy, sealed in blood not yet spilt…" One day this church would be torn asunder, the old gods would finally die and he would raise this faith in his own image. Not today, no. But in time. He understood its foundations, he knew their rites, their rot and the convenient lie that had been perpetuated for centuries. Sanctum Noctis and would be his someday and the Daughters of the Veil would be as weak as they proclaim. Not for power. Not for vanity. But for her. Because love, if that’s what this sickness was, required control. Required as they claimed on these desecrated grounds, sacrifice.

The symbolism of the ceremony did not escape him. Vows would be exchanged between the two of them. He wondered if either of them meant or even understood the words.

“Let none of us truly forget what this truly is.” The priest declared, his raspy voice carrying through the Sanctum with a power that belied a truth hidden being a veil of presumed debility. Nepenthe was a being of true, immortal power, even as his vessel diminished, a single form meant little in the face of eternity.

So Erin did not forget. Not for a second. Her spine was a wire. Her pulse a blade in her throat. Nepenthe’s voice echoed off the basalt like a spell half-invoked, every word wrong in the right way. Too solemn. Too old. There was truth in it, and truth had teeth. This wasn’t love, not really. Not just love even if there was some strange sentiment that drew them both. This was a ritual. A binding. An offering. Clearly stated, a verbal contract sealed in sacrifice. One of the four tenants of their faith.

She exhaled, but the breath didn’t leave her clean. The air inside Sanctum Noctis never truly refreshed; it tasted of wax and ash and memory. Her fingers dug into the edge of the pew, nails pressing crescent moons into old wood.

She watched Mathias, her celebrated cousin. Tall, dark, somehow gleaming. Her blood and bone. He looked like a prince from an empire long-dead. His voice rang out like it belonged to the stone as he declared a solemn vow.

“I offer not peace, nor safety, but truth, and fury, and loyalty carved in bone.” Why did her arms ache?

That wasn’t love. This was a contract of violence. That was a weapon dipped in devotion. Revelation through right.

Then Winnie. Sweet, soft, weird pink most days except today, Winnie, voice trembling.

“B-Bind my future to his…”

Erin tilted her head, unnerved. That crack in Winnie’s voice. That wasn’t nerves. That was hesitation. A soul pulling back from the edge before the leap, knowing that they would not survive the fall. Did Winnie understand what she had just said? Did she speak from a script or were those her own words. That vow hadn’t just asked her to love Mathias. It asked her to disappear into him. Like so many women in the Athanatos family did.

And the silence that followed her vow was thick as shrouding cloth.

Erin blinked. Slowly. The part Veela wasn't watching them anymore. It was like observing a front end collision of a broom into a tree. The carnage that would follow was not for her eyes, neither would this.

Her attention would be diverted in that moment to someone else, Howard White. A dhampir, once a half-blood or even a muggleborn, transformed. She envied him. She hated him for advantages he did not understand, but the years had softened her avarice. Hoard still unsettled her in a way she could not quite articulate (fearless countering terrible presence), but he had also helped her once... twice perhaps if Hogsmeade counted. She wanted to learn more about the other schools. She was seeking a pattern to explain why the other schools, thousands of miles away from Hogwarts cycled through Professors in the same way their school had. His help that day probably counted. It was a kindness considering there fact that she assumed he hated her, and the sentiment was likely well-earned.

Howard was pale as a memory and perhaps just as unwanted in the sanctum, surrounded by wizarding elite as a half-breed or a cursed being, she was nt even sure what to call the bloodthrall. Crimson eyes catching the candlelight like fresh open wounds. Her stomach twisted. Not in fear. Not even in anger. But in suspicion. Erin knew that something was wrong, but her mind was like a tattered map, scraps put together in a manner that resembled a region made from the memories of someone that had never been there. She simply blamed the most sus person there (in her opinion), Howard White.

Howard (since you like playing, may as well hook you) should not be here. Not under this veil of ancient magic. Because he knew what was really happening, didn’t he? Of all the faces in this stone-blooded cathedral, Howard had seen behind the veil before. Felt it. Walked into it and came out other. (He had not, probably.)

He moved slightly (as one does when they exist). Did he sense her watching?

Erin’s vision blurred at the edges again. She could feel a pulse behind her eyes.

The priest had said something. About the stones beneath their feet. How they remembered every vow, every betrayal. Even in forgotten tongues. And Erin believed the Archivist. More than she wanted to.

She glanced to the floor. Basalt. Old as blood. No older, blood meant man or beast and she felt that this stone was somehow older. Did the stones recognize her? Did it know what had once slept inside her, the hag-slug, the parasite, the prophecy? Hey rocks... it's your girl Erin... She mouthed.

And as the silence fell, just as the priest demanded, Erin felt the veil descend—not metaphorical, but real. Something passed through the room.

It did not have eyes.
It did not have breath.
But it was watching.

She turned her gaze once more to Howard.

And something in her broke, softly, like old glass. He knew something. He always did. And if the stones beneath her feet could whisper, she was sure they would say:

One day, you’ll have to choose: bear witness, or break the circle. There is no third vow.

Hook: Please note, some of what Erin says is 100% accurate in her narrative but some of what she says is 100% untrue, a delusion. Some facts are obviously wrong because they will counter things actively and actually known.

Dee was going to throw up. She just knew it. At least that would give her an excuse to change out of this dress and its ridiculous sleeves. (They were, luckily, detachable, and Dee would get rid of them as soon as they were out of this church. She couldn't be expected to get through this night and deal with the scratchy tulle, after all.) And yet, she forgot all about it for a moment when the priest started speaking. Where the man himself was creepy, the words he spoke were much worse, and Dee's fingers tightened around Aly's to the point that she probably cut off her best friends' circulation.

These weren't words of love. Nothing of happiness, of caring for each other in good times or bad. Instead he spoke of blood, of legacy, and of sacrifice, and the nausea in Dee's stomach grew. If she'd had to guess, Dee would have said that this speech was all Athanatos and no Harper - she wondered if anyone had asked the bride what she wanted the ceremony to be like, instead of simply draping the chilling black stone in pink and calling it a day. The words smelled of binding magic, tying Winnie to Mathias and his family in invisible strings. It reminded Dee of what they'd learned about Unbreakable Vows. She hated every moment of it.

At least, she mused, Mathias promised Winnie truth - something that, she suspected, their relationship hadn't exactly been full of in the past. Truth and loyalty. It was better than nothing.

Winnie, of course, looked radiant while she promised herself to Mathias, everything that she was and would become. Why would she - why should she? Give up her entire being? Dee didn't understand.

The silence that followed was unnatural, eerie. No word was uttered in the church, it seemed like the building was holding its breath, and so was Dee.

Taylor Athanatos sat beneath the vaulted shadows of Sanctum Noctis, its black stone ribs arching overhead like the carcass of some great, long-dead god. She wondered if the gods could even bleed, never mind die. If that was merely the result of being forgotten, to be without faith or memory. No, that would mean absolute oblivion. The church was ancient, oppressive, its basalt walls veined with old blood and prophecy. Deities adorned its alcoves and rafters. Faceless, ageless, eyeless things that neither watched nor wept. They simply endured like the women of their family that simply disappeared.

Nepenthe, the traitor, the eternal Archivist spoke slowly. His words were ritual-worn, unspooling threads from the loom of fate itself. She heard the raspy words, ancient and binding, but her mind unraveled away from ceremony, threading elsewhere, toward that yawning, gnawing memory of home. Not the glittering halls of Athanatos wealth, the thieves they were, but her true home. The one on legs. The one that wandered. The one where her aunties, old as mountains and twice as cruel, stirred bone-broth and watched the stars for omens.

As the vows echoed around her like the thud of a thousand coffin-lids, Taylor’s lips pressed into a near smile. Mathias, her cousin, the pompous shithead, stood at the altar like a wax figure crowned with arrogance. He was about to subjugate the next generation. And Taylor barely knew the bride. Winnie Harper, a young woman who had once passed through a previous man's orbit and now passed again, into Pride's orbit, as if women were comets caught and burned-up in male gravities. Winnie would rue this tragic crossing one day, just perhaps not today as the depths of the ceremony and vow were muted in perception by the glitter of celebration.

But the words the priest Nepenthe spoke rang too true. “A vow is not a gentle thing.” No, it wasn’t. A vow was a blade, a chain, a brand. They would feel its weight like a collar.

Then came the silence. And in that pause, something inside her momentarily fractured.

The scent of roses turned metallic in her nose, iron-heavy and red. The altar looked more like a sacrificial slab. The priest more like an executioner. And Taylor felt that hunger. Pangs that took her breath away, she fought to steady her breath as visions bloomed before her. Visions not from her legacy prophetic sight, but from the bloodline they tried to suppress. That ancestral parasite that sang songs of her true, intended nature.

She did not flinch when Gideon looked her way. She had been promised to him by her father. A means of keeping their bloodline narrow and pure. hey truly did not understand how muddied their blood actually was. And now Gideon's fury was like the heat of a forge. Let it burn. She wanted it to. She invited it. She knew he would strike if she pushed hard enough. But she would not break, he underestimated her at every step. He wanted to stop the change in her, but it was not the change that frightened her.

It was the legacy. The power. The fact that she would be outside of his reach.

Her jaw clenched as she bowed her head, a parody of prayer, lips barely moving.

“Вечная Мать (Vechnaya Mat), Mother of Ash and Bone, of abandoned fate... hear your daughter.” Her tongue flicked like smoke, the old Slavic thick on her voiceless lips. “Veil my mind from their prying touch. Hide me from those who would break me before I bloom. Let him see only what I show. Let his love bind him tighter than it binds me.”

She swallowed, hard.

“Let him fear what I become.”

Her gaze lifted, eyes locking with Gideon’s. Her fingers flexed in her lap.

“Let them," not just Gideon “bleed first and last.” To bleed the most. To shatter.

She was still smiling when Mathias vowed his fury in bone. She did not hear Winnie's reply. Her ears were full of the song her aunties taught her. The melody one sung beneath floors, in the hollows of trees, in the cracks of sanity. The one that only daughters could hum.

The wedding was a celebration. But Taylor Athanatos? She was preparing for war.

Interacting with: @Avery Gray and @Valentin DeAngelo Mentioning: N/A Date: N/A

Word Count: 204

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Weddings. Just another thing where he had to dress up and act all fake just to keep up his father’s good name. He couldn’t stand it. All he wanted to do was run out of there and disappear. The constant pressure and demand for being a pureblood was killing him. He walked closely behind Avery, but he had the feeling she didn’t even notice. Something was bothering her. He would have said something, but now wasn’t a good time. He didn’t want to disrupt the wedding and cause a scene that he didn’t want to deal with. All that attention on him made him shiver. He didn’t see anyone he recognized yet. Well, considering that he had lived in America at the moment, and had only visited his home for the first time in a long time over spring break, he wasn’t surprised that he didn’t know anyone except Avery. He stood with Avery and watched the room silently. Unsure. He watched as the bride walked down the aisle. Avery had never mentioned her, but he felt Avery tense beside her. Something must have happened. Why else would she act like that? He would have to ask later and find out the full story.

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Edith had barely rounded the corner when she noticed a man opening the closed doors to the Cathedral. It appears I am not the only one late to the event...

With a soft sigh, she glanced down at her dress for the event. There had been a wardrobe malfunction when the tailor brought out the dress she had made; its baby pink fabric had been a shade too dark, and it gave a very hot pink look. Fearing she would stick out like a sore thumb, Edith had asked for an alternative, to which the tailor was able to offer, the only issue was that it was a different color. Her baby blue frilled dress swayed with the wind as she made her way to the Cathedral's stairs.

Before, a crackling noise was heard as hurried heels climbed the stone stairs outside the Cathedral.

So many stairs... pause and breathe.

Edith panted slightly, going up the stairs in heels would be the end of her one day... but not this day. Clearing her throat, she quickly fixed herself and made sure her hair was still neatly done before opening the large doors with a small creak.

A mouse would have been louder, but she still cringed and ducked while slipping inside quickly. Hesitantly, she walked further inside, looking around in awe as she took the beautiful sight. The stained glass, the bow-tied gargoyles... it all gave an ethereal feeling as her amber eyes widened. Noticing the bride reaching her groom, Edith came back to her senses and looked around for a place to sit.

A golden-haired gentleman caught her attention, and she smiled, knowing well who it was. Silently, she walked over to him, her smile growing as she gently tapped his shoulder before greeting him with the traditional La bise as she whispered for only him to hear, "Hey Sam, sorry I am late... I hope I didn't miss too much..."

Edith would gently sit down beside him as she noticed his attire, whispering under her breath so as not to bring any unwanted attention, "We are accidentally matching... You look handsome in blue..." She would give him a smile, her eyes crinkling before she faced forward. Merlin, I must've sounded weird... Her face would turn a light shade of pink for various reasons, for starters: she was late to a wedding and then proceeded to blabber about coordinating colors when he wore a deeper shade of blue that may have been completely different from the baby blue she wore.

Gently shaking her head, her once racing mind would pause as she focused on the wedding. Edith's eyes softened as she watched the bride hold the groom's hand, a small smile forming across her face. Sure, the couple were quite young, she agreed with that, but she could not deny that sometimes one simply knows if they have met their other half.

She understood the want... the need of love.

Her eyes watered slightly before she blinked back the tears that threatened to escape her. The sound of shattering glass also pushed back into the deepest corner of her mind.

Edith's hand would grip onto her other hand slightly as she proceeded to maintain her smile, her eyes still soft and filled with genuine happiness. Edith would silently wish the young bride good fortune and happiness. She had seen the young student around Hogwarts. Edith had not been the librarian for long, but the child always did seem to be one of the gentler ones.

Suddenly, the vows began.

Promises of forever engraved into every word, carving what would be their line of fate. Edith smiled, unaware that the bride's fate may not be the type she had hoped for her. She would lean over to Samuel and whisper what her curiosity had urged her to speak, "Why do you have shades inside?"

Orion had hoped the Harper girl would somehow manage to escape the Athanatos family before her fate was set in stone, but alas... Here he was, dressed in a pitch black suit with silver stitching to attend the wedding of his two students.

His invitation felt less like an offer and more like a leash. He was a pureblood wizard who worked for Thaddeus... Less past tense than he would have liked, admittedly. He had hired him during the start of the year to do some waste disposal after years of silence. Orion, too deep in blood to ever scrub himself clean, could only oblige.

He supposed he should have felt something like guilt; he was attending Miss Harper's wedding mere months after killing her father, Fionnagáin Harper. It was the man's own fault for trying to extort one of the most powerful pureblood families in modern wizarding times. It was like pressing a dull knife against steel armor.

In a way he felt he had done the world a service by executing him; Fionnagáin Harper had been an asshole on a good day and a narcissistic piece of human scum most days. And Winnie, a doe-eyed girl with obvious self-esteem problems, reminded him of far too many victims.

He slipped into the Cathedral but stood towards the back until he heard the progression music start to play. His eyes scanned the crowd before falling onto a young blonde woman. Erin Ryan. He remembered her well enough, mostly how she had almost become a hag. There had been something her cousin, Aamon Athanatos, had mentioned to him months prior that he had been meaning to ask her about. Perhaps the wedding would offer the opportunity.

"Ms. Ryan," Orion half-whispered as he slid into the pew next, "You're looking... Healthy." Not hag-like, at least.

A hush fell over the crowd when the bride entered the cathedral, although it might have less to do with how she looked, as lovely as her dress was, and more to do with Thaddeus' spell. Of course he would silence the audience, there would be no objections this way.

Poor girl, he thought to himself, she has no idea she'll be buried in that wedding gown. He watched the ceremony with his hands folded in his lap, jaw tightened. Orion wanted nothing more than to look away.

Speach: English, Spanish
thougths

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@Dylan Astor
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346 words