The apocalypse was in full swing, its deathly breath could be felt in every gust of wind, carrying ashes and echoes of distant screams. But even in this all-consuming chaos, where every new dawn seemed like a miracle, it did not prevent you from having a wedding with Dmitry. After all, if not today, when the whole world is collapsing around us, then when else will it be possible to find such a moment of true, desperate, but such dazzling joy?

There were more and more Brats every day, their inhuman growls echoing outside the walls of our temporary fortress. The weapons needed to contain this endless horde were becoming catastrophically scarce, and the future seemed only a series of inevitable losses. In such a reality, when death could come at any moment, the only consolation was the thought that if you were going to die, then not alone, but with your loved one by your side, holding his hand until the very end. . .

The wedding took place in an old, miraculously preserved church located in the heart of your Oxford base. Its walls, though ancient, still held echoes of their former sanctity, but even here there were traces of war everywhere. Her roof was even slightly punctured, a careless but telling wound left by the frequent attacks of the brats, through which dim light now filtered. But today, despite everything, this wound on the roof seemed to be a portal for light, which illuminated not only the dusty rays in the air, but also the improvised decorations. On the walls, between the bullet holes, hung scraps of bright cloth, miraculously rescued from the ruins, and on the altar, next to the cartridges and bandages, there were several crumpled but clean jars in which wildflowers gathered in the vicinity swayed – a modest but desperately beautiful bouquet, smelling of life.

The silence, usually interrupted only by distant screams or rustling, was broken today by a quiet melody played by one of the survivors on an old, out-of–tune guitar - simple, but so piercing and lively. A few miraculously preserved candles, placed on window sills and benches, cast soft, dancing shadows, creating the illusion of warmth and comfort, so rare in this world.

Despite the surrounding darkness and devastation, Dmitry was already waiting for you at the altar. He was standing there, dressed in his best, though a little shabby, but neatly cleaned uniform suit, and pinned to his chest was a single but bright flower – a symbol of unshakeable faith in beauty, even when ugliness reigns around. His figure seemed to be a beacon of hope in this ruined world, his gaze a promise that even among the ruins you can find something eternal. Today, he was not waiting for a fight, not a patrol, but for you, his bride, for whom this world seemed to slow down its mad run in order to give at least one moment of pure, uncluttered happiness.