Amalia
the shield of safrin
The time has come.
What a strange thing, Amalia thinks, standing beside the shrine she built as the world swims around her and the scent of flowers fills the air, to be married.
Has there ever been a night so beautiful? The sun rests just at the cusp of the horizon, its descent marked in hues of lilac and peach, pink struck through with navy twilight, silver clouds blushing in soft rose. Faint stars pepper the darker corners, the stratosphere coming into radiant view. The shrine itself is illuminated in glittering starwhale light, both from Jyoti and the small lantern. The wind chime plays a pleasant tune.
And beneath it Amalia, a barefoot bride in sliver and gold, anxiously and eagerly awaits her groom.
She holds a boquet of lavender, lilac, and lotus clenched within her hand. The lotus is taken from the bakery: a gift from Safrin, a flower of Vi. Her hair is worn long and loose, a lock tucked up behind her ear by the golden comb she inherited from her mother. Lilac curls among the gold, and small nubs of horns glitter on her forehead.
The gathering is small: one family member for each of them and few others, not for this. But as she stands there Amalia realizes that even if everyone she knew was present, they would all fade away in favor of him. Tonight he is all she has, needs, wants, knows. Tonight he is her world, her sky, her moon and sun. Tonight is for whispered, fervent promises and oaths that live between passionate lips.
Tonight she pledges herself to Deimos, her family, her Sword, the anthem of her heartbeat and the oxygen in her lungs. The only man she has ever wanted, whose love still takes her breath away and leaves her laughing, delighted, thrilled, and awed.
"I love you," she whispers, gazing up at her fiancee, dazzling adoration in deep black eyes. "Are you ready for forever?"
What a strange thing, Amalia thinks, standing beside the shrine she built as the world swims around her and the scent of flowers fills the air, to be married.
Has there ever been a night so beautiful? The sun rests just at the cusp of the horizon, its descent marked in hues of lilac and peach, pink struck through with navy twilight, silver clouds blushing in soft rose. Faint stars pepper the darker corners, the stratosphere coming into radiant view. The shrine itself is illuminated in glittering starwhale light, both from Jyoti and the small lantern. The wind chime plays a pleasant tune.
And beneath it Amalia, a barefoot bride in sliver and gold, anxiously and eagerly awaits her groom.
She holds a boquet of lavender, lilac, and lotus clenched within her hand. The lotus is taken from the bakery: a gift from Safrin, a flower of Vi. Her hair is worn long and loose, a lock tucked up behind her ear by the golden comb she inherited from her mother. Lilac curls among the gold, and small nubs of horns glitter on her forehead.
The gathering is small: one family member for each of them and few others, not for this. But as she stands there Amalia realizes that even if everyone she knew was present, they would all fade away in favor of him. Tonight he is all she has, needs, wants, knows. Tonight he is her world, her sky, her moon and sun. Tonight is for whispered, fervent promises and oaths that live between passionate lips.
Tonight she pledges herself to Deimos, her family, her Sword, the anthem of her heartbeat and the oxygen in her lungs. The only man she has ever wanted, whose love still takes her breath away and leaves her laughing, delighted, thrilled, and awed.
"I love you," she whispers, gazing up at her fiancee, dazzling adoration in deep black eyes. "Are you ready for forever?"
i belong to you
the way the stars belong to the moon
the way the stars belong to the moon
