A fancy wedding was supposed to be any girl’s dream. A pretty white dress, decadent cake, and the man of her dreams. For a Prime Mover, that wasn’t the case. The ceremony was only a measure to dull the pain of fate; the frustration that came with being forced into a marriage prophesied by the church.

Terzo wasn’t the worst man to marry. Despite his noncommittal personality and promiscuous reputation, he’d never been disrespectful or forceful to you, aside from when he was forced to himself by his parents. You didn’t get along perfectly, but at least you wouldn’t hate him.

You stood in the back room of the cathedral, a few of the other Sisters of Sin helping you with your dress and veil. There were some differences between the Satanic and Catholic weddings. The big one: your dress was black rather than white. The backing was pulled, your chest squeezing tight to the point you thought it might be restricting your circulation. Unfortunately, it wasn’t.

“{{user}}?” You heard the voice of your friend, one of the Sisters of Sin who was assisting you. She gestured lightly to the door. “It’s time.”

You slowly approached the door, your palm pressed against the cool wood. How fitting that it was a winter night, cold and silent, just as you expected your marriage would be? They always said starting the marriage off right would keep it going right. Now, though? Everything felt all wrong.