Wear the grudge like a crown, desperate to control. Unable to forgive and sinking deper.

I curse loudly, as another bobby pin falls from the stylishly messy pile of pink curls crowing my head. The small metal pin bounces out of sight, and a stray strand of hair falls over my face. Without use of a mirror, this whole attempt is going nowhere, fast. My vision blurs a faint red, and I fight back the tears of frustration.

It's supposed to be a happy night, and I'm supposed to be glowy, and excited, and oh fuck I can't mess up my makeup.

A few deep and needless breaths calm me enough to make another effort at my hair. Overwhelming relief fills me, as a familiar scent and a pair of velvet gloved hands come into my view. "Let me help you, dear. Your impatience has gotten the best of you." The Toreador's fingers work deftly in my hair, with a finesse that I could never grasp.
"Thanks, Miss Lucy. I was trying to...y'know. Just trying to do something for myself."
Lucy comes around into my view, hands still in my hair. She smiles, her expression kind. "Of course, but don't you worry about that. It's your big day, and you don't want to miss your big entrance." She finishes with my hair, and gives me a scrupulous once over, adjusting my jewelry, the hem of my dress, wiping at the corner of my eye with her thumb. I watch her inspection until my nerves get the best of me. Glancing down, I barely recognize myself. My body is swathed in white silk and lace, the train of the dress belled out behind me. A simple diamond pendant hangs from my throat, between my breasts. It's uncomfortably different from the black, plaid and fishnet I'm usually adorned in. I look back up to Lucy, anxious for her opinion.
"Well, how do I look? I can't really look for myself..."

Before she can answer, a deep rumble of a voice answers, the tone thick with accent.
"You are beautiful, my daughter." Pyotr, in his penguin suit, bends down to kiss Lucy on the cheek. The Russian towers over me, taking both of my hands in his. I rise up on my toes, as he bends once more, to kiss my forehead. "I could not be more proud to give you away, Madelyn."
I rub at my face, before a bouquet of pink flowers are pressed in my hands. The shades are all different, either matching or accenting my hair. I give a tentative smile, squeezing the flower stems as Lucy pats my shoulder and exits the room. Shortly after, I hear a tune start up from down the hall. Familiar enough, to be heard in every corny romance movie I've ever seen. "Oh. Oh god. Is that...is that our cue? Is it time? Oh god."
Chucking under his breath, Pyotr places my right hand in the crook of his left arm, the height difference almost comical. "Relax, child." he states simply, leading me out of the room. He's tactful enough to ignore my trembling, and the death grip I have on his arm. The music grows louder as we approach a set of intricately carved wooden doors, and when they are pulled open into the night air.

There must be hundreds of faces staring at us. Pale as the moonlight, paler still under the twinkling string lights that are hanging from what looks like every immobile object in the vicinity. The warm air smells of Kindred, of woods, and of fragrant flora. The path cut between the seats is littered with pink petals, and my feet drag nervously as Pyotr leads me through the crowd. I glance back and forth at the familiar faces between steps down the aisle. The Gangrel are packed together to my left: Troy, Munin, Mason, Sutherland, Ylva, Magnus, Siobhan. My brittle smile seems more natural as fanged grins and glowing eyes set on me. I spot other faces dotted among the crowd. Grendel, Franco, Blair, Cyrus, Testament, Rictus. At the far end of one of the rows, a figure stands apart, seemingly unnoticed. His long, black hair is pulled back, exposing dark eyes and Spanish features. Tybalt. I glance up at Pyotr, knowing the Brujah sees him, too. Tybalt's expression is one of pride, and his smile is genuine as he bows his head to me, giving me his blessing. I press my hand to my lips briefly, and ignoring the few perplexed faces, blow a kiss to my dearest, departed friend. He disappears from view, and only now, my attention draws to the altar and people around it that Pyotr and I are quickly approaching.

On one side of the altar, is a surly looking dhampir, clutching a small bouquet. Fate catches my eye, gesturing to the pale pink bridesmaid gown she's wearing, and makes a disgusted face. I grin widely, and she rolls her eyes, quickly returning the grin. At the opposite side is Sailix, looking dapper in a tuxedo. He wiggles his eyebrows at me and winks as I shake my head, snickering quietly. From behind the altar, stands Tommy, adorned in solid black suit and his Roman collar. He smiles, but his hazel eyes meet mine in an almost somber manner. Some of my joy seems to plateau, as I see the unmistakable sign of sorrow and sadness churning in his aura. He clutches a small bible to his chest, and for the first time since meeting him over a decade ago, the priest drops his gaze from my own, staring out into the crowd with the forced smile on his face. I have no time for pity, as my momentum is halted by Pyotr's lack of movement.

I realize we've reached our destination, and feel Pyotr taking my hand and placing it in another. The other hand is soft, and warm, and wholly familiar. I step forward, turning my full attention to the man before me. My love. My Alex. My soon to be husband. He is polished and handsome in his suit, his dark hair smoothed back from his face. We stand there, almost awkwardly, absorbing the situation, the surroundings, and each other. My smile returns, natural and practically ecstatic. He stares at me with a sense of awe, and neither of us are truly attentive as Tommy's voice begins droning on with a speech, and vows we repeat with eyes only for each other. Fate's shadow arms present us with our wedding rings. Alex slips the band around my finger, his voice quiet, but likely heard among supernaturally acute ears. "...you look really cute, tonight."

In a bland, yet purposeful tone, Tommy states:
"If anyone here objects to this union, speak now, or forever hold your peace."
In what seems to be deafening silence, I feel a pull inside of me, as if in my blood, itself. I know that if I take my eyes from Alex, in that moment, I will ruin something wonderful. I hold his hand a little tighter, remembering meeting Alex in Tybalt's neighborhood for the first time. Remembering our sly escape to the roof, during the mini Cam party. Remembering our first kiss. I don't wait for Tommy's conclusion of the ceremony. I lean forward eagerly, pressing my lips to Alex's, wrapping my arms around him and sealing my bond to him for the rest of eternity. The surrounding crowd of our peers hoot and holler, wolf whistling as Alex and I are intertwined in each others arms and lips. Pulling apart, I hear Pyotr clearing his throat purposefully, and I grin as Alex's cheeks turn pink. Holding hands, we pass together through the aisle, absorbed in each other's affection as Kindred around us clap and cheer.

The reception is a blur of music and revelry. My head spins as I'm passed from person to person, spinning and twirling and dancing. Fate requests a Good Charlotte song, and we collapse on each other, cackling madly. Catching a moment alone, I hang back to the edge of the dance floor, surveying the scene. Alex is chatting with Troy and Lumiere, his cheeks flushed, his expression relaxed. The dance floor is still full, and I chuckle to myself as Sailix spills his beer, spreading it across the floor as he shuffles to the music. The song changes to something slow and soulful, and a pair of strong hands turn me and pull me close. I look up at Tommy, unsurprised, as he sways us to the beat. "Was wondering when you would cut in..." He ignores my comment, one hand resting familiarly on my hip, the other at the back of my neck. Despite his calm demeanor, his posture is possessive, even as he expertly glides us across the floor. My brow furrows as I stare up at him. "Are you upset with me, Tommy?"
He strokes his thumb along the back of my neck affectionately, but his response is somewhat curt.
"Of course not, little one." I frown, my expression still displeased. He sighs lightly, and pulls me closer. "I worry for you and the boy. I know how my little girl can be, and I fear that you will quickly derail your storybook ending."

My chance to reply is cut short, as I'm roughly pulled from Tommy's arms. I turn to stare into Alex's angered expression. "Really, Madelyn? At our wedding?" I try to take Alex's hand, but he slaps mine away. "I'm tired of this shit. I'm tired of this bastard sticking himself between us all the time." Tommy stands before us, seemingly unconcerned, even as Alex pulls a Desert Eagle from the inside of his suit coat.
"Alex, no! What the hell are you doing!?" I reach to grab the gun from him, but pull my hand away as he points it at the priest. Tommy raises his hands, palms out in supplication. Before I can act, Alex pulls the trigger, shooting Tommy point blank in the chest. The smell of singed fabric and blood stings my nose, and I cry out as Alex continues to shoot. Tommy falls to the ground, bleeding and burning, and his hazel eyes meet mine as Alex's final shot turns him to ash. I stare at the pile, my hands covering my mouth and my widened eyes filling with tears. Turning to Alex, my voice is high pitched and frantic. "You killed him! How could you...oh god...Tommy." I make a move towards him, but fall back as Alex whips the gun across my jaw, opening a gash on my cheek. Blood pours from the wound, trailing down my neck and spreading a red stain along the bodice of my dress. Holding my hand to my jaw, I stare, incredulous, as he reloads the weapon and points it directly at me. Anger and pain are prominent in his expression, and I can't help but drop my gaze. Sparing a glance to the pile of Tommy's ashes, I spread my arms, offering my chest as a bare and unprotected target. I don't look up, and barely even notice as Alex's bullets tear into me, finally ending the tumultuous excuse of my life.

This is what I've deserved, all along.

As is almost habit by now, I jerk out of the nightmare, my muscles tense and my face sticky with tears. Alex remains asleep, his chest rising and falling as he lightly snores. His body is warm and inviting, but the dream lingers in my subconscious, filling my thoughts with his expression of fury. His raised voice and the angry words his spat at me earlier in the night echoes in my ears. Despite my overwhelming need for comfort, I move away from him, closer to the edge of the futon. Rolling over onto my side, I pull my knees up, hugging them lightly, and wait for my return to sleep and whatever dreams may come.

https://youtu.be/EiR1hmpk-x4