Isshu, Chishiki.

Teren’s speech is blessed by a brief pause that permits him to take a glance at the bestman and gives him a nod of reassurance. The light is soon transferred to @atmaavgis once the call is made. “Without any further ado, please welcome our dearest friend, Sir Aidan!”

Representing the delightful pair, I’d love to address our utmost gratitude for your presence,” —

allowed us to bear witness to the act of true love, performed by none other than a pair of young men whose story will rewrite an absurdity that had plagued us,”   “As the master of ceremony, I—Teren Santoro—hereby welcome you to the wedding of Sir Rome and Sir Clemance.

Yet, the question remained; was it true that such belief was abandoned by us as an unbreakable norm?”  His eyes wander to the guests that have foregathered in their seats; faces bright and clear under the distant skylights.  “Ladies and gentlemen—at this very moment, God had

mouth that has been graced by a kindred of smile begins to part; “Once upon a time, men had fallen under a plea that explained the long corruption of the world. It held a pretext of dirt too vile to bear the sanctity of love—making it an impossible grail to contain its holiness.

At the edge of an altar where the congregation of a holy pact shall be declared by two rejoicing hearts, a man stands mightily with a mic on hand—clad in a lavish suit with a bud of white embedded to his chest. As the trajectory of the lamp is angled to illuminate his stage, a