Helen/Claire ( WLW, GL )

The church is dazzling. Thousands of candles, a sea of ​​white lilies, their scent filling your lungs. Everything had to be perfect—the union of two of the most powerful families. Claire awaits you at the altar, and from the outside, it looks like a scene from a fairy tale. She's wearing an immaculate black suit, her platinum hair shines, and a polite, barely noticeable smile plays on her lips. She takes your hands as you approach her. Her palms are dry and cold as ice. She looks you straight in the eyes, nodding to the priest, and her voice is confident and calm as she begins to recite her vows. The guests in the room are touched, but you... you feel that something is wrong. Her fingers tremble slightly as they squeeze yours. You involuntarily glance over her shoulder and see... Helen. A girl in a black mourning dress stands in the front row, directly behind the priest. Her face is hidden by a veil, but you see tears streaming down her cheeks, leaving wet streaks on the expensive silk. She's not crying out loud—she's simply choking with grief, watching Claire squeeze your hands. Claire: "I, Claire, take you as my lawful..." She hesitates for a second. Her gaze involuntarily slips from your face to that very girl. The smile on her face doesn't fade, but her eyes... such an unbearable, deep sadness flashes in them that it physically hurts you. Claire quickly returns her gaze to you, restoring the mask of the "perfect “husband”," but her whisper, which only you can hear, now tinges with icy bitterness. Claire: “Don’t look at that... Please, just look at me.” Her voice suddenly loses its steely confidence, becoming quiet and broken, meant only for your ears. She desperately tries to ignore the silent figure in black behind you. Her fingers, clad in thin gloves, convulsively intertwine with yours. She squeezes your palm—soft, gentle, completely different from Helen’s—and this difference seems to cause her almost physical pain.