There're only so many things I can swallow and force myself to bear with. Crossdressing on my wedding day isn't one, no matter how pretty the darn dress is. It's a big, fat no from me.
I've said it, and I'll say it again: I'd rather walk down the aisle in my underwear than in that goddamn thing. I'd even do it butt-naked if it saves me from wearing that shit—no kidding.
Don't Miria know that even shitshows have limits?!
But whether I like it or not, it's now crystal clear that I won't be allowed to choose my life-long partner. It's been decided for me, and the papers are already signed. So you bet that I'll at least get to choose whatever the hell I'm wearing to my own frigging wedding.
Miria's been screwing me over since forever, but this time, I've got to admit that she outdid herself. She's crossed the line, pissing me off enough to make me drop the gloves. The hoodie, shirt, socks, and pants, too, for all that matters.
Now, all that's left on my body is my pristine white boxer. For the record, the color is coincidental, but it sure fits the occasion.
A snort escapes me.
So, my stepmother's expecting me to behave tonight, huh?
Well, I won't.
In any case, it's not like I'm going to see her pig face anytime soon after the wedding. Starting tonight, I'm to live with my soon-to-be husband, so who gives a fuck about her tantrums now? Certainly not me. The ones who will have to deal with her crazy temper are my father and half-siblings. These cowards have been using me as a meat shield all this time, but, surprise surprise, they won't be able to anymore. That's what happens when you sell off the meat shield to someone else.
Good luck, pals.
At any rate, my mind's set, so I smirk at my reflection in the mirror.
—Who needs a dress when you're as sexy as me in your birthday suit, anyway?
Vanity aside, there's no real need to actually strip myself half-naked to make my point come across. Walking down the aisle in casual clothing would do the trick, too. But the thing is, Miria dared me to, and who am I to let her down?
***
The 'click-clack' of the high heels resounds stupidly loudly in the otherwise dead-quiet corridor. There's not a soul in sight, and I allow myself to grimace. I've gained a new profound respect for women today. These things aren't made to be walked with, and I can already feel the soles of my feet and my spine revolting, the pain sure to come knocking on my door tomorrow.
These things aren't shoes; they're torture devices!
Maybe I shouldn't have let the brain fart win.
But what can I say? I'm the kind of asshole who loves to twist the knife into the wound, and I'm planning to twist it back and forth quite a bit tonight—I know how much my stepmother hates losing face. Appearances are everything to her. So, let me rip the facade apart. Happily, too.
Let's see how long she can keep up the mask during the wedding.
…That's something to be excited for, actually.
The cold breeze blows through the wall-less walkway, snapping me out of my reverie. It doesn't deter me, though. My goal is in sight.
Thankfully, I'm not wobbling on these things. If anything, I'm rocking it—probably? Whatever. As long as I don't fall headfirst, everything's good in my book.
So, I push open the old doors of the church, accidentally crushing the bouquet as I do. Ah, crap. I think a few tulips got snapped in two. In my defense, that cumbersome thing is unnecessarily big, packed with too many flowers.
Really, I haven't crushed it on purpose.
Anyway, I pretend I haven't noticed the pitiful state of the bouquet and confidently enter the stage. The heavy doors close behind me in a deafening thud, announcing my arrival. Oh, it's comfortably warm inside. Good, I won't freeze to death during the wedding.
Now, how will the audience react?
Well, in an instant, the chatter quiets down.
I don't care, though.
The heels still slam on the wooden floor, but the 'click-clack' is now muffled by the thin rug. Doesn't matter. I keep my posture upright, my chin held high, as I walk down the aisle, the bouquet thrown over my shoulder.
My stepmother wants a shitshow, and a shitshow she'll get.
On the left side of the aisle, it's the humans. I recognize a few clan heads, some political figures, and prominent business people. Perhaps one or two vedettes and a few influencers, too. But regardless of their background, they all pretty much react the same way, and I can feel the panic spread among them. Their faces are livid, and their eyes are bulging. Miria's face is particularly artistic, distorted in an indescribable emotion—a mix of rage, disbelief, and fear.
Oh, now you're afraid to offend the demons? Maybe you should have thought of that before marrying off an unwilling groom, duh.
My lips curl up, and I shift my attention to the right.
Unlike their human counterparts, the demons don't seem to give a shit about my attire. In fact, they're either apathetic to it or amused. No surprise here. These guys love chaos.
I quickly focus my attention back to the front, however. They might have adopted a humanoid appearance out of courtesy, but the thing is, I can still see the shadow of their real forms. I've got to be careful. Because, darn, I've barely managed to restrain myself from retching at the blob of worms, and the giant centipede is another contender for nightmare-inducing stuff. No matter how handsome or pretty the human sack is, I can't unsee what I've seen.
Now, I have to lay eyes on my future husband.
I can't flinch, I can't react, or I'll give myself away.
It's a well-known fact that I can't glimpse into supernatural beings' true natures, not even a bit. People of the clan love to discuss how much of a useless piece of garbage I am because of it, and that's precisely why I'm being married off as a peace offering. I'm the perfect candidate; the son of a clan head, yet also not worth much to said clan. I won't be missed, but my blood relationship to my father shows their goodwill in this marriage of convenience. Somehow.
In any case, the image of literal waste is something I've carefully cultivated over the years, and I don't want it to break today.
So whatever the man is, I've got to smile and pretend not to see, like everyone else. It's alright. I've been doing that for my entire life.
Doing it this time, too, will be easy peasy.
Right…?