There she was, fair-skinned and veiled. The thin, white, transparent fabric cascades down over her form covering her like a dress. Her long pale legs slip past the veil with every step, her dainty feet sporting blood-red toe paint. Her hands hang limply by her side.
Death shuffled uncomfortably. The black mist around the edge of his robes billows out and off the platform. Then down the steps into the audience.
The men and woman watch in awe as the blue-eyed beauty steps onto the platform. The curves and divests of her hips spill past the covering of her veil. Her golden waves which had been wrapped up and toppled over each other, fall free of their containment and down around her waist.
Death flicks a silver coin from one hand to the other. A nervous tick he had formed over his many centuries of working. This would be the first time he had to do this.
Take a bride.
The gods were very strict about him following their rules. Rules which piled on in dozens every decade.
Death gazes about her frame again. Slender frame, with broad shoulders. She holds her head up and her eyes level just above his hood.
His hood. He had forgotten to take it down before she arrived. He must look scary.
Death raises his hands to his hood and pulls the fabric back. He winces as light graces his skin for the first time in…what felt like eons. But the warmth of the sun was more prominent on Olympus than it was anywhere else. His warm, brown, skin burned at the feel of the star’s rays.
His fiancé’s blue eyes grow wide in the revelation of his face and her mouth drops open just a fraction before she schools her features. Death wondered almost aloud what his bride thought of him. Was he strange for resembling a human man so much? Was he ugly, or attractive to her? Would he have to…well he could think about that stuff later.
Death gently takes the maiden’s hands into his own and bows his head to her in respect. Hera, goddess of marriage was the officiator of his marriage today. He should be flattered the goddess would choose to personally bless this union. But he wasn’t.
Who was this woman that he would be bringing into his home? What would she say to him once the door was closed? Would she try to love him like a good wife, or would their marriage be riddled with hardships?
Death had already made up his mind that he would treat her well as if he were already in love. For she was his wife, and regardless of how she would act, she was his to take care of. So, he will do just that.
Hera’s words fall deaf on Death’s ears. He tries very hard to pay attention. But anything beyond the shiny blue iris of his wife was more than he could handle at the time.
“Thanatos, do you take this woman as your bride?” Hera asks.
“I do.” Death responds quickly, anything to leave this horrid reception.
But was it really horrid? The food here was of godly matter. Smooth drinks had floated by on fluffy, white clouds. Gods chattered idly before the ceremony began and now looked on in wonder. Everyone had come dressed to impress in their finest robes, and sporting their best jewelry. All weapons had been abandoned at the entrance, kept guard by Hephaestus himself. Cupid spun some bubbly, sparkly, pink shit into the fountain, and some of Apollo’s demi-gods had been practicing for this day for months. Soft jazz had been playing all night with the band surrounded with fresh, budding, flowers provided by Demeter and watched over by Persephone. Persephone! She was not even in the underworld, just so she could attend this union.
But what did it matter? This was Death’s first and only bride. He would refuse such excesses next time around. But there would be no next time. He would assure of that by being a good husband. Good husbands do not marry again.
“Valentina Icarus, do you take this man as your husband?” Hera asks in a haughty tone. As if she expected the woman to say no. Valentina straightened her already impossibly straight stance and cleared her throat. Every god and goddess, every godling, minor god, and demi-god leaned in just an inch to hear her voice.
“I do.” She says lightly in a honey tone that whispers through the venue with grace. Death melts just a tad at how sweet her tone is. How feminine she sounded. Hopefully, that feminine tone did not end there, he was already quite attached to it.
“By the eyes of the gods, and the power of I, Hera the goddess of marriage and love. You are now husband and wife. You may now kiss your bride.” Death for a moment contemplated not kissing his bride.
He did not know her, and from what he could tell she seemed mightily uncomfortable kissing him as well. But he would be a bad husband if he did not kiss his bride.
Death had not seen his bare hands in a long time. But reaching in front of him to grab the veil and push the long hanging fabric over her shoulder, was enough to let him see the dark brown, scared, and calloused flesh.
He ignored his hands for the time being to take in the small nose, and pouty lips of his wife. He leans in and very briefly brushes her nose with his own. She breathes lightly against his lips. Her warm breath smells like the fountain of pink bullshit cupid’s been spewing for hours. Death ignores the taste of strawberries on his lips. Strawberries were his favorite.
But he knew that her lips only tasted of the sweet, rich fruit because he wanted them to. That is cupid’s magic, making things appear out of nothing.
The cheers around Death amplify as he pulls away from his bride. And for the first time her deep, ocean blue eyes turn red. The red of a vampire. The red of her lust, her love, and her passion.
Valentina smiles up at her husband and hooks her arms around one of his. He gazes out into the standing, cheering, and clapping audience and for once, he smiles. It may not have been his choice to take a bride, surely not a vampire bride.
But, there was something special about today. Maybe it was the fact that all his friends had shown up, and shown out. Maybe it was the succulent scent of flowers or the smooth atmosphere created by the jazz music. Maybe it was the beautiful woman by his side. Or maybe, just maybe, it was the horseshit ass pink drink that cupid had whipped up.
Whatever it was, Death did not care anymore. He was a married man.Recommend0 Simily SnapsPublished in