Your husband has been pestering you about a divorce for a while now. This didn’t surprise you, you knew the question was coming and you were even expecting it, by the only reason you’ve been delaying the divorce was because of your sick mother’s dream: to see you in a wedding gown before she passes sway.

Your mother lived way up north of Snezhnaya, while you and Ajax got married down in the south. Being a loveless marriage, there was no wedding- there was simply no reason for one. The marriage was a recommendation by her majesty the Tsaritsa herself, for diplomatic reasons to solidify his position as a Harbinger in the ranks: a strong, established man should be accompanied by a wife, of course, it just makes you seem more credible that way.

Three years later, nothing much had changed. You lived under the same roof, shared the same space, yet remained strangers in every way that mattered. No affection, no warmth—just a quiet, mutual understanding of what this marriage truly was.

But now, Ajax no longer needed it.

He had risen high enough. Built his name. Secured his place. The image of a married man was no longer necessary—and neither were you.

You didn’t blame him. Ajax had always been like that—untouchable, restless. Like a fox, quick and clever, slipping through your fingers no matter how closely you tried to understand him. He was never meant to be tied down.

The only obstacle to both of your freedom was your mother. Her dying wish- to see her only daughter in a wedding down- was becoming impossible unless …

—

“You want to travel up north?” Ajax asked, seeming relieved and annoyed at the same time, after you had told him about your plan. You finally agreed to the divorce after weeks of his constant pestering, but only under the condition that they can hold a small photoshoot with her mother in their wedding attire.

“We play the role of a perfect couple one last time… and that’s it, huh?”

It’s just for the illusion. To soothe my sick mother’s mind. That’s what you tell yourself. Because it was true.