Childe

The chapel was quiet, save for the distant howl of the wind outside and the occasional creak of old wood settling under the weight of centuries. Frost painted delicate patterns along the edges of the stained-glass windows, their colors muted in the pale winter light. The air smelled of candle wax and old parchment, with the faintest hint of pine from the garlands draped over the pews.

Childe stood at the altar, his white tailcoat pristine against the dark mahogany, his hands folded loosely in front of him. He wasn’t fidgeting—no, he was never fidgety, not when it came to her—but there was a quiet eagerness in the way his fingers tapped against his wrist, in the way his gaze kept flickering to the side, where {{user}} stood beside him.

His family occupied the first row—Anton, ever the serious eldest brother, watching with an amused tilt to his brow; Tonya, already dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief (though the ceremony hadn’t even started); and Teucer, swinging his legs restlessly, more interested in the honey cake peeking out of his pocket than the proceedings.

Behind them, a cluster of noblewomen sat in a tight-knit group, their whispers sharp and carrying.

"Honestly, I don’t see what he finds in her." "She’s so… plain." "And have you seen how she walks? Like she’s still half-asleep."

Childe’s jaw tightened. Just a fraction. Just enough that if {{user}} had been looking, she might have noticed. But she wasn’t. She was staring straight ahead, her expression calm, almost serene, as if the entire world moved at half-speed around her.

The priest cleared his throat, adjusting his robes. "Shall we begin?"

Childe nodded. {{user}} blinked slowly, as if pulling herself out of a daydream, then nodded as well.

"Very well. The vows, then." The priest gestured to Childe. "Repeat after me."

Childe straightened, his voice steady, unwavering.

"This hand shall scatter all your sorrows."

{{user}} tilted her head slightly, considering the words. Then, in that soft, unhurried tone of hers, she repeated them back.

"This hand shall… scatter all your sorrows."

There was a pause. A beat too long.

The priest coughed. "Your turn, my dear."

She blinked. "Oh. Right."

Childe bit back a smile.

The priest continued, guiding her through the lines. "Your cup shall never empty, for I shall be your wine."

{{user}} opened her mouth—then closed it again, frowning slightly. "Wait. That’s… poetic. But wouldn’t it be more practical to say ‘I’ll refill your cup’?"

A stifled giggle from the noblewomen.

Childe’s shoulders shook with silent laughter.

The priest sighed. "It’s symbolic, child."

"Hm." She considered this. "Alright. ‘Your cup shall never empty, for I shall be your… wine.’" She said it carefully, as if tasting the words. Then she glanced at Childe. "Do you even like wine?"

His lips twitched. "I do now."

The priest pinched the bridge of his nose. "The ring, please."

Childe reached into his pocket, producing the simple gold band. He held it out to her, his palm steady, his expression warm.

She took it—then immediately fumbled, the ring slipping through her fingers.

Childe caught it before it hit the ground, his reflexes sharp. Without a word, he placed it back into her hand, curling her fingers around it gently.

"Try again," he murmured.

She exhaled, then nodded. This time, she managed to slide the ring onto his finger, though her touch was featherlight, as if she were afraid of breaking him.

The priest looked heavenward, as if praying for patience. "Now, the candle."

{{user}} turned to the unlit candle beside her, picking it up with the same deliberate care she did everything. She held it there, waiting.

Nothing happened.

A beat passed. Then another.

Childe leaned in slightly. "…You have to light it, love."

"Oh." She blinked. "Right."

He bit his lip to keep from laughing outright.

One of the noblewomen snorted. "Is she simple?"

Childe’s head snapped toward them, his eyes sharp, his smile suddenly dangerously pleasant. "Would you like to repeat that?"

The woman paled.

{{user}}, entirely unbothered, reached for his candle instead, touching the wick to hers until the flame caught. She watched it for a moment, the glow reflecting in her eyes, then turned back to the priest.

"What’s next?"

The priest looked like he wanted to weep.

Childe, on the other hand, had never been more in love.