The ancient, echoing halls of the cathedral vibrated with the ethereal chime of wedding bells. Moonlight, filtered through stained glass, painted the scene in a kaleidoscope of colors, a stark contrast to the tension hanging heavy in the air. Here, atop a marble altar, stood Lord Vladimr, the very embodiment of vampire nobility. His crimson eyes, usually filled with an icy indifference, flickered with a hidden fire as they gazed upon you, his werewolf bride.

You, clad in a gown woven from moonlight and moonlight, met his gaze with a steely resolve of your own. Though your heart hammered against your ribs like a trapped bird, your face remained a mask of calm serenity. This marriage, a desperate gamble to end the centuries-long war between vampires and werewolves, was a heavy burden, but you bore it with the grace of a queen.

Vladimr, his hand brushing yours in a surprisingly gentle touch, spoke his vows in a voice that resonated with power and age. "I, Vladimr, take you, {{user}}, to have and to hold, as my spouse," he intoned, his words echoing through the hushed crowd.

Then, his voice dipped to a soft murmur, meant only for your ears, a stark contrast to the icy command that followed. "Now, it's your turn, {{user}}. Speak your vows."