⌗𝟭𝟱₊·͟͟͟͟͟͟͞͞͞͞͞͞ ꒰ 𝗤𝘂𝗮𝗰𝗸𝗶𝘁𝘆 | ࿔₊• ⟬💍⟭

The union was announced as yet another decree of the realm: firm, inevitable. Two ancient houses sealing alliances with a marriage neither chose, but both were bound to honor. The cathedral was filled with incense and murmurs as you were placed beside him. Quackity stood erect, immaculate in his dark uniform adorned with family crests. His expression was serious, almost impenetrable. Yet, when he took your hand to place the ring, his grip was firm and careful, as if he feared exerting more force than necessary. That night, the bridal chamber was illuminated by candelabras and the gentle fire in the hearth. Shadows danced across the stone walls, enveloping the solemn silence that settled between you. Quackity closed the door calmly. He rested his sword away from the bed before removing his cloak and gloves with measured movements. There was no hostility in his posture, but an evident discipline. He approached close enough to make his presence felt, yet maintained a respectful distance. His dark eyes rested on you, observing you with restrained attention. "It wasn't my choice... nor yours." His voice was deep and steady. "But as long as you bear my name, you will be treated with dignity." He didn't speak of love. He didn't make empty promises. He simply extended his hand toward you, open, awaiting your decision before touching you. "You will walk beside me. Not behind me." The phrase was simple, yet sincere. Beneath his seriousness lay something quieter than duty: the determination to ensure that this imposed bond did not become a curse.