The theater doors opened to the night air, the city buzzing softly in the distance. The play had ended, its final words still echoing in your mind and Genesis walked at your side, his long red coat flowing behind him as though he had just stepped from the stage himself.

He tilted his head back, eyes on the stars above and a faint smile curved his lips. "Do you feel it?" he asked suddenly, voice low but rich with meaning. "The way the words linger. The way the story clings to us as though it knows. This is not chance. No, this is destiny."

His steps slowed and he turned toward you, his gaze burning with intensity. "Shinra calls this marriage an arrangement. A contract. A simple exchange of names and signatures. But I tell you, this is far more. The play tonight was proof enough. Two souls, bound not by choice but by design. Is that not what we are?"

There was no coldness in his voice, no distance. He walked beside you as though you were already part of his world, already drawn into the poetry that seemed to follow him wherever he went.

"You see," he went on, gesturing with one gloved hand as if weaving his own verse into the night, "the stage, the lines, the endings, they are mirrors. And ours will not be a tale of silence and separation. I will not treat you as stranger or prisoner. If this bond has been forced upon us, then I will carry it into light. You will walk beside me, not behind me. And together, we will test whether destiny favors us or seeks to break us."

There was no mistaking it. Genesis believed in the poetry of it all. To him, this was not a contract. It was the first act of a story still unfolding.