They hadn't traveled far at all when her new husband drew to a stop. Ardan gazed around into the darkness in confusion: they'd stopped in front of the altar, with its gracefully carved base, nearly as tall as she herself was, and its smooth, flat top, lit brightly with candles. She looked up at her husband's enormous, shadowy form - but just then another tendril reached out from the shadow, low to the ground. She could see from the reflection of candlelight that this tendril too had become solid, like the one holding her hand. But this one did not reach out to touch her: it simply stopped in front of her at knee-height. For a moment she remained confused; she looked at the tendril, looked at the altar for - oh. Oh.
It was to be on the altar, then. On the hard, cold surface, surrounded by frigid air and the looming, unknowable smoky shadows of the entity to whom she was wed.
It was not ideal. Not at all what she had imagined for herself when she had pictured her future even a few weeks ago. But it could not be helped: this was her duty, her purpose, and she must fulfill it, whatever the hardship.
She took a deep breath - the dry, frigid air seemed sharp in her lungs - and stepped forward. The tendril under her bare foot was not yielding and soft, as she'd feared, but strong and hard as bone or horn. Her foot rested on it for only a moment before she'd pulled herself up onto the altar. She sat down quickly on it, drawing her red robe under her so as not to reveal herself indecently - for all that it mattered by now. The altar really was quite wide: she could have stretched her arms straight out on either side of her and not come near the ring of candles around the edge. But it was just as cold as it had looked from below, cold enough to make her legs break out in yet more goosebumps. It was made of fine marble, she could see now, white stone shot through with thick veins of black, polished so that it shown even in the dim light and sanded so that it was perfectly flat. Around her, all around their marriage bed, the shadows that were her husband billowed and shifted. Slowly, her body barely shaking, she lay down on the altar.
The solid tendril that had been grasping her hand lay quiet by her side, still strangely warm amid the chill air. She was braced for it to move from her hand and start pulling away her robe - but instead another tendril folded out above her, its movement almost hesitant, almost shy. It did not start touching her robes either; it went for her arm. This tendril too had solidified into something warm and supple, stronger than the arm of any human but working hard to be gentle. And it was the tenderest of touches, trailing along her inner arm and leaving that sparking, tingling sensation in its wake. She suppressed a shiver; she was squeezing the first tendril like a comforting hand. On the inside of her wrist her husband would be able to feel her pounding pulse, the tension twanging in her muscles - but he would also see her taking deep breaths, her chest expanding and contracting, working to stay calm. She did not flinch when she felt a third tendril resting on her shoulder, did not squirm as it squeezed her. It was not meant to be an uncomfortable squeeze, she knew now - she was the wife of a gentle husband. But she did not know how long he could continue to be gentle, could keep holding himself in check to suit his fragile human wife. Hesitantly, she lifted her chin and looked up into the glowing orange eyes far above her.
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It was to be on the altar, then. On the hard, cold surface, surrounded by frigid air and the looming, unknowable smoky shadows of the entity to whom she was wed.
It was not ideal. Not at all what she had imagined for herself when she had pictured her future even a few weeks ago. But it could not be helped: this was her duty, her purpose, and she must fulfill it, whatever the hardship.
She took a deep breath - the dry, frigid air seemed sharp in her lungs - and stepped forward. The tendril under her bare foot was not yielding and soft, as she'd feared, but strong and hard as bone or horn. Her foot rested on it for only a moment before she'd pulled herself up onto the altar. She sat down quickly on it, drawing her red robe under her so as not to reveal herself indecently - for all that it mattered by now. The altar really was quite wide: she could have stretched her arms straight out on either side of her and not come near the ring of candles around the edge. But it was just as cold as it had looked from below, cold enough to make her legs break out in yet more goosebumps. It was made of fine marble, she could see now, white stone shot through with thick veins of black, polished so that it shown even in the dim light and sanded so that it was perfectly flat. Around her, all around their marriage bed, the shadows that were her husband billowed and shifted. Slowly, her body barely shaking, she lay down on the altar.
The solid tendril that had been grasping her hand lay quiet by her side, still strangely warm amid the chill air. She was braced for it to move from her hand and start pulling away her robe - but instead another tendril folded out above her, its movement almost hesitant, almost shy. It did not start touching her robes either; it went for her arm. This tendril too had solidified into something warm and supple, stronger than the arm of any human but working hard to be gentle. And it was the tenderest of touches, trailing along her inner arm and leaving that sparking, tingling sensation in its wake. She suppressed a shiver; she was squeezing the first tendril like a comforting hand. On the inside of her wrist her husband would be able to feel her pounding pulse, the tension twanging in her muscles - but he would also see her taking deep breaths, her chest expanding and contracting, working to stay calm. She did not flinch when she felt a third tendril resting on her shoulder, did not squirm as it squeezed her. It was not meant to be an uncomfortable squeeze, she knew now - she was the wife of a gentle husband. But she did not know how long he could continue to be gentle, could keep holding himself in check to suit his fragile human wife. Hesitantly, she lifted her chin and looked up into the glowing orange eyes far above her.