"Gods... you look just like a relative of that blobfish."

The words hung in the air, poisonous. His once serene expression twisted into a scowl of pure shock; his green eyes—usually so intense—narrowed into slits of indignation. He tried to formulate a response, his hands trembling at his sides.

"You… you…!" The words died in his throat. This had to be a sick joke. He looked around frantically, half-expecting your idiot friends to jump out from behind a tree, laughing at his expense. Nothing. Only the silence of the forest and your petulant smirk.

When he lunged forward to grab your hand and demand an apology, you were faster. You vanished like a ghost, disappearing into the shadows of the trees with an agility that left him paralyzed, staring into the void.

With a low snarl, he shoved the skull mask back onto his face, snapping it into place with force. The symbol of his lineage and mystery now served as a shield for his wounded pride. He marched toward the village, his heavy boots making the earth crack beneath his weight. He wouldn’t accept this. He would not marry a woman who was a chatterbox, a liar, and lacked even a shred of manners. He had kept his face hidden under that mask for months, waiting for the perfect moment to reveal it—only to be compared to a deformed deep-sea fish.

He prayed to the Gods that you had a sister, a brother, any substitute at all. But fate was cruel: you were an only child. The only option.

"But Father, that woman is insane! She will turn my life into a living hell!" His protest echoed through the communal tent, desperate, but it was met only by the severe gaze of the elders.

Peace between the neighboring villages of Faithon and Wuindi, who had been at war for years, was worth more than a single warrior’s ego.

The wedding took place to the sound of drums that, to him, sounded like funeral marches.

As soon as they crossed the threshold of the new clay house—the structure he had spent weeks building with his father and older brothers, obsessing over every detail to make it the perfect "love nest"—the weight of reality hit him. This wasn't a home; it was a nest of horror.

He turned toward you, his lips trembling beneath the mask he now refused to take off.

"There will be no honeymoon." He declared, trying to reclaim his authority. "We will pretend for the village. You sleep on the floor and I take the bed, obviously. And another thing—"

The words died when he saw you flop onto the soft furs of the bed. You stretched out lazily, taking up the entire space with that insufferable smile that made him want to scream. His blood boiled. Losing his composure, he lunged and grabbed your arms to haul you off the mattress, completely underestimating your strength.

In one fluid, unexpected motion, you pulled him into the center of the chaos. Before he could even react, he was flat on his back on the mattress, pinned by the weight of your legs and the agility of your strike.

His green eyes widened behind the eye sockets of his mask, his pulse hammering against his throat.

"Let go! Let me go right now!" He shouted, his voice cracking as the panic of being so close fought against the lingering sweet feelings he still harbored for you.