Emperor of Mayhem

93

TILL DEATH, DO WE PART

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( A/N: I don't know much about weddings. never really attended one irl. I wrote this based off my own little research and some informations might be wrong or misinterpreted. Just let me know if you think there's a place I made a mistake. Thank you🤍)

SOME MONTHS LATER
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OMNISCIENT'S POV
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"I look like a plastic China doll," Azania uttered, nude lips twisted into a frown as she stared at her reflection in the mirror.

She didn't look like a plastic China doll. But she did look like a divinity, an intercession between what was holy, what was of men, and what was of gods.

In her silken-white, strapless mermaid design wedding dress which came with a white tailored cape made of tulle with ruffles as hem, she was the complete definition of a celestial entity.

But blinded by anxiety and fear, she was seeing the wrongs that weren't even there in the first place.

"Take this makeup off." The heart-stopping command was thrown at the professional makeup artists present in the room. A worried look flew into the artist's eyes, their lips parted.

"Let's try the other one on the third page of the magazine." She turned away from the mirror, hard eyes bouncing between the two makeup artists, "I think, no, I believe that one feels more me. This." She made a vague, exasperated gesture around her face, "This is too much. My face feels like it's not mine. It's so heavy. I feel caked. I'm sweating even though it's currently a considerable degree, and fuck, I can't breathe."

She doubled over, clutching her chest as a burn spread through her lungs, anxiety weaving in her veins like black wine, shaking fear into every fiber of her being.

She wasn't sure if she could do this; take this step. Get married. She wasn't sure. Up until today, she had happily planned the wedding and cooperated with very experienced wedding planners. She was so sure just yesterday. But now, she wasn't again. She had no idea in particular why she was suddenly losing that confidence from before. But she just didn't think she could do this.

"Azania." Shiro dashed into the room all of a sudden. One of the makeup artists had rushed to get him. After spending three hours here, they noticed the young Japanese man was the one that always calmed her down when she was losing it, the only one she listened to.

They had no idea what relationship they shared. They just knew he was the only one that could get through to this difficult Bride.

"Shiro," she veered in the direction of her best friend who had finally gotten himself into a black tuxedo.

"What is it?" He asked, guiding her toward the bed before gently sitting her on the edge.

"The makeup." She made another gesture around her perfectly contoured face, "I hate it. I want another one. This is too much. Can't even recognize myself in the mirror. And that's a bad idea. If I can't recognize myself in the mirror, how will Mikhail know it's me when I walk down the aisle?"

"It's okay," Shiro said soothingly, gently patting her hand while her baby pink acrylic nails dug into his skin as she gripped his hand, unaware of the pressure she was applying, "Just take a deep breath."

And she took enough air into her tightening lungs, eyes clenched shut to reconnect her sanity before she gently released the breath.

That seemed to calm her down a bit.