***
They married under an old fig tree in a quiet garden no one else remembered. A handful of guests stood among scattered petals; sunlight slipped through leaves, painting them in dapples of gold and green.
Ciel's suit was slightly wrinkled, hair wind-tossed from rushing to meet her on time. Elara wore a simple dress of soft linen, the hem stained faintly by morning dew.
"I didn't think we'd get here," she whispered as he brushed a stray curl from her forehead.
"Neither did I," he murmured, voice shaking with quiet wonder. "But here we are."
Their vows were short, said softly enough that only the breeze heard every word. They promised nothing grand: only days together, gentle mornings, shared silence, and hands to hold when words failed.
When the officiant spoke, Ciel didn't wait — he kissed her as if the world had stopped just for them. Petals drifted around them, catching briefly in her hair, in the folds of his coat, before falling to the grass.
Later, they shared cake on a sun-warmed stone bench. Elara rested her head against his shoulder, feeling his heartbeat slow and steady under the thin fabric.
"Promise me," she whispered, voice hushed as falling petals. "If one day we lose this, you'll still find me."
"In every life," he promised, breath catching on the words, "I will find you."
She closed her eyes, trying to hold the weight of that vow, knowing — somehow — it had been spoken before, and would be spoken again.
In the quiet hush of the garden, with laughter drifting faintly from guests behind them, they felt, for once, like they might have won. But even then, the wind felt just a little too cold — as if somewhere beyond the trees, time waited patiently to take it all back.
***