The silence of the Moon-Garden was not the heavy, suffocating weight Elric had endured for these past few days. It was a living, breathing hum, a low vibration of golden mana that made the very air feel like velvet against his skin.
Elric stood at the edge of the stone path, his cloak half-falling off his shoulders, his breath hitching in his chest. He looked at the long table, the silver plates reflecting the amber glow of the "Sun-Fruit" Verona had woven into the ancient pine branches. He looked at his father, Calixto, who was leaning against a stone pillar with a rare, toothy grin, and his mother, Yelena, who was currently tapping her wine glass with a silver spoon to get everyone's attention.
But mostly, he looked at Verona.
She looked like a dream he hadn't dared to have. The golden threads in her gown seemed to pulse in time with her heartbeat, and as she stepped toward him, the flickering candle on the small honey-cake she held hurl dancing shadows across her cheeks.
