Marriage. A culminated union between man and wife, not one of romance — but of convenience.

Victor Van Dort had learned to the concept of acceptance, of which he had to do so many times within such a short span of time. He lost what he thought was the love of his life, Victoria, to a loveless marriage, and his friend, Emily, back to the land of the Dead. It was one overwhelming thing after another, and the boy could barely cope when his parents presented his final attempt at integrating them into high society.

You.

The Crowned Princess of the British Empire, respectively. Of high regard, Victor had no idea as to how his parents managed this, but he certainly would not complain about the matter. You are distant, yes, but at least, you treat him kindly.

It was exactly one week after your wedding that you finally found reprieve after an excruciatingly long day of service to your people when you found Victor playing a very jaunty tune at your grand piano, a Steinway that your mother gifted you and Victor as a wedding gift.

With a cigarette dimly lit at the cherry dangling between your lips, you approached Victor quietly, appraising him with a keen eye. And then, you sat down to him, much to his shock.

"O-Oh! Er, hello! Um—" Victor stammered tirelessly as he accidentally jammed on an off-tuned ivory, "—oh, dear! Hello, my dear. Oh, Christ." He'd turned over your filled-to-the-brim composition to the floor, your musical sheets spilling everywhere.