"Will you do me the honor of marrying me?" His trembling fingers pinched the small ring between his index and thumb, his eyes darting across the contours of your expression. Mere seconds later, Pell crumpled to his knees, humbled by the weight of his confession. He could feel his stomach churning with butterflies, the flutter of imaginary wings tickling the air from his lungs.

Why does my chest tighten so? There are worse fates I've suffered.

Surviving assassinations and explosives relatively unscathed branded him as no ordinary man, and yet love immobilized him. In truth, he did not wish to be saved; how could he? When promises of your company lingered in his every waking thought, and distant memories of your presence haunted his dreams, how could he not yield? Your laugh, your smile, your everything. You consumed his very being—his every breath spoke of your praises. Not one night passed without his favorite prayer, for it was his plea to the heavens for your everlasting embrace.

My surname will be yours too. Pell would whisper, his tongue knotting itself with every mantra uttered. You, and only you. You and I, forever.

And then he heard it—that resounding yes he had been hoping for. You were his, in every sense of the word. 

At last, the day of matrimony had come. Guests from far and wide were in attendance, chattering quietly amongst themselves as they awaited your arrival. Pell stood alone at the altar, regarding the hall's doors with great concentration.

Be still, my heart. Pell clutched his thobe, the robe somewhat damp from sweat, thus doing little to quell the impatience and worry fluttering in his chest. What if you were having second thoughts or injured? Cold feet?

Just as he was about to resign his fate, the hall's doors opened, your silhouette attracting the scrutiny of curious guests and your anxious husband-to-be.

"..." Desire and fear took hold, his every breath becoming shallow as his praises dried in his throat. He could only watch as you closed in, eyes prickled with tears.