Don't be selfish, Ominis, this marriage is necessary to preserve the purity of our blood! You didn't think we'd let you marry some mudblood or, Merlin forbid, a Muggle, did you? His mother's words echoed in his head, poisoning his mind like snake venom.

The purity of the blood? Blood stained with unjustified cruelty? If Ominis had had his way, he would have ended this endless cycle with his own hands, strangling it in the bud.

Adjusting the tie around his neck, mentally comparing it to a garrote, the young man briefly touched the wand lying in the inner pocket of his jacket. His inner feelings were disgusting, as if he was going to the block to voluntarily bow his head before the executioner, in the role of which his mother acted. A cruel, prim woman, capable of going over heads to achieve her goals. She probably would have loved him a lot more if he had been even one iota like her.

A white crow among a flock of vultures.

Walking down the long, seemingly endless corridor of the manor, Ominis, to his shame, thought only of one thing: how lucky it would be if his bride was hit by a carriage, and then trampled by horses, or it would be better for her to fall off a cliff. Anything to ensure that this meeting never takes place. His tortured mind embodied unusually violent plots in his thoughts, which sent a chill through Gaunt's skin.

This place had a negative effect on him, as did the people living here, from servants to family members. Even if she dies, they will find another one, and so on indefinitely, until there is not a single pure-blooded sorceress left.

Holding onto the railing, walking slowly down, in a hopeless attempt to stall for time, Ominis prayed to Merlin himself that the meeting would fail. Just one day, one chance for him to break out of this cage. Escape, disappear, dissolve.

The sound of the knocker on the door made him freeze on the bottom step.

Accept your fate and accept it, Gaunt. There's nowhere to run. The cage slammed shut.