[She'd been about ready to cap this off with the only way a wedding can end, when... wait, there are rings? Tifa only watches in a stunned silence as they tumble out of the little black pouch, the gold catching the candlelight in a certain way that it emphasizes the intricate details around the band. And when he takes her hand in his, so warm and sturdy, her heart is about to leap up into her throat again when he slides the ring on her finger, where it sits snug in a perfect fit.
This was not how she imagined it would go—the first time anyone had adorned her with a wedding ring, but she can't say she minds. Once again, she reminds herself that if there were anyone to perform a pretend wedding with, it's him. Because that's all it is. Pretend. A fairy tale that will go down in a book somewhere, sometime. A story about Romeo and Juliet that people will read about when they want to feel whimsical or reminiscent of lost loves. And no one will know their names.
But as the weight of the ring begins to settle in on her finger, she can feel that coil in her chest begin to pull tighter and the draw to him become greater. She turns her hand over in his hand so that she can fold her fingers around his to give it a light squeeze.
But now it's her turn, and whatever solid ground she had found to set her resolve on begins to crumble as the Friar hands her the other ring.
"Place this on his finger and say, 'With this ring I thee wed.'"
There's a stretch of where Tifa only stares down at their hands, and at how his drapes over her much smaller one, waiting, and with a deep breath to steady herself, she slides the ring over his finger.]
With this ring, I thee wed...
[Her eyes widen a touch with anticipation when she looks up at him, knowing what's about to come.
"Very well then. By the power vested in me, I pronounce you man and wife. My lord, you may—"
Tifa doesn't allow him to finish. The bouquet crumples to the floor, and her hands reach for Eustace to pull him into a kiss. It's light and lingering, soft but strong enough to carry all of the weight of the words she couldn't bring herself to say just yet.]
no subject
This was not how she imagined it would go—the first time anyone had adorned her with a wedding ring, but she can't say she minds. Once again, she reminds herself that if there were anyone to perform a pretend wedding with, it's him. Because that's all it is. Pretend. A fairy tale that will go down in a book somewhere, sometime. A story about Romeo and Juliet that people will read about when they want to feel whimsical or reminiscent of lost loves. And no one will know their names.
But as the weight of the ring begins to settle in on her finger, she can feel that coil in her chest begin to pull tighter and the draw to him become greater. She turns her hand over in his hand so that she can fold her fingers around his to give it a light squeeze.
But now it's her turn, and whatever solid ground she had found to set her resolve on begins to crumble as the Friar hands her the other ring.
"Place this on his finger and say, 'With this ring I thee wed.'"
There's a stretch of where Tifa only stares down at their hands, and at how his drapes over her much smaller one, waiting, and with a deep breath to steady herself, she slides the ring over his finger.]
With this ring, I thee wed...
[Her eyes widen a touch with anticipation when she looks up at him, knowing what's about to come.
"Very well then. By the power vested in me, I pronounce you man and wife. My lord, you may—"
Tifa doesn't allow him to finish. The bouquet crumples to the floor, and her hands reach for Eustace to pull him into a kiss. It's light and lingering, soft but strong enough to carry all of the weight of the words she couldn't bring herself to say just yet.]