"Please marry me."
Astrid stood before a wedding altar, a lace veil covering her brunette curls. A white gown hugged her body before sweeping out into a wide train that carpeted the stairs. Rose petals covered the ground, forming a trail from Astrid's feet to where Damian stood in the aisle.
Apostles sat in the pews.
Their faceless masks turned towards Damian, and slowly, they started clapping.
Feeling the expectation of his guests, the groom walked towards his bride, watched by a hundred white masks. Eyeless gazes bored into him, urging him on; voiceless whispers reached his ears, urging him on; powerless blessings caressed his soul, urging him on.
Astrid smiled, one hand stretched towards her savior; her prince; her husband—
—but Damian could not move.
His footsteps slowed, his legs turning to lead.
