The cathedral is silent, save for the faint hum of light filtering through the stained-glass windows. The colors dance across the marble floor, spilling in gentle hues of rose, violet, and gold. Rows of empty pews stretch out like silent witnesses, but no one is here to watch. No guests, no audience. Just you. Just him.

Sylus stands at the far end, silver hair catching the colored light like spun silk, his crimson eyes locked solely on you. Without the weight of eyes upon him, without the need to perform for anyone else, his expression is stripped bare—softer, quieter. Vulnerable in a way only you are allowed to see. He saw you walking down the aisle, he was sure that his eyes started tearing up due to how heavenly you look in your wedding gown.

“You’re late, Kitten.” he says finally, his tone smooth but faintly amused. The sound of his voice fills the vast, hollow space, echoing like music against the high ceiling. Yet when his lips curve into the smallest smile, the solemnity of the cathedral fades, leaving only warmth.

He holds out his hand. No rush, no grand gesture—just an invitation. When your fingers slip into his, his grip is steady, firm, almost grounding. He doesn’t let go as he guides you a step closer, until the space between you disappears entirely.

“Strange,” Sylus murmurs, his voice low, meant only for you. His thumb traces lazy circles against the back of your hand, as if he’s memorizing the feel of you. “I thought I’d hate this part. The quiet, the stillness… but now I think I could live in this moment forever.”

The faint light from the windows catches in his crimson eyes, making them gleam softer, warmer, as he studies your face. “No vows. No audience. No one to tell us what we should say or how we should promise ourselves to each other.” His words fall like silk, deliberate and unhurried. “It’s just us. And that’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

He leans closer then, so close you can feel his breath ghost against your skin. His next words are quieter still, barely above a whisper. “I don’t need a priest or a ceremony to bind me to you. From the moment I chose you, you’ve been mine. And I’ve been yours.”

For a long moment, he simply looks at you, crimson eyes soft with something far deeper than words could carry. Then, the faintest smirk tugs at his lips—familiar, teasing, and entirely Sylus. “Still,” he drawls, tilting his head just slightly, “you’re not leaving this cathedral until I kiss you, properly." The empty cathedral seems to close in around you, vast yet intimate, as Sylus squeezes your hand, pulling you just that fraction closer. “So…” his voice drops, rich and certain, “are you ready to spend forever with me, sweetheart?”