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Music: light, airy, refined.
Unlike quite a few of her daydreams, Laudna had never envisioned herself getting married; she’d never allowed herself to, more exactly. To her, it had simply never been a possibility; during her life before Imogen, it’d been more of a bummer than any sort of tangible goal, and after her they’d both been so busy with gods and monsters and other such dangerous things that she’d just… assumed something would happen, before she got the chance.
But she did get the chance; she got her Imogen, radiant and resplendent, dancing right across from her now.
Her Imogen had chosen the most gorgeous mermaid style dress; simple and iridescent, in a way that sent her sparkling every time Laudna spun her under the warm glow of the fairy lights strewn throughout the trees. Her hair was left loose, curled just enough to bounce when she laughed, with a small bun holding down the top half; just enough to hold a few flowers - a white rose, a few spare sprigs of lavender, and some bright red peonies, per Laudna’s suggestion. A few petals fell out and landed amongst her curls each time she was spun, and each time she’d laugh harder - she laughed so very much that day. Laudna was sure she’d jokingly complain later about the soreness of her cheeks later, but she didn’t mind; she’d simply kiss her, gently, anywhere she said it hurt.
She spun her again; this time, Imogen tripped just slightly on the edge of her dress and fell backward into Laudna, hand in hand and chest to back.
Laudna was glad she’d chosen a much more ostentatious dress than Imogen, then; hers was all frills, with as many rhinestones and ruffles as she could sew. A perfect base for catching a fall. The ball gown fulfilled so many dreams she didn’t know she had; she felt like a princess. She looked like a princess, too, with a tight, high bun braided to the brim with all of the leftover flowers from Imogen’s own hairstyle. Occasionally, pieces would slip, and Laudna considered those the only fault of the night; for just a second they’d obscure her vision of the angel in white that danced across from her. They’d force her to remove her hand from her wife’s for just a moment; a crime most severe, that night.
A dip this time, as far as Laudna could lower her.
With her wife out of her sight for a single, slowed lull in the music, Laudna took in all the beauty that they’d planned together. She watched Pâté slip in and out of the tree line, pinning up loose lights when necessary and throwing compacted bundles of flower petals at any particularly rowdy guests. She really had picked the best flower boy possible; it made her giddy, seeing her son - their son, she supposed - thrive like that.
She stared at their wedding cake, soon to be cut and served; three tiers, all a crimson, chocolaty velvet, and all handmade by her. It had taken her three tries to get the flavor right, and to not horrendously over-bake each pan; Imogen had to help her frost it, too, just to have it done on time - it ended up as intricate and as frilled as her dress, occasionally leaning slightly crooked. On top sat two figurines of them, both Pock O’Pea originals; Imogen’s looked extravagant, one arm outstretched and the other poised elegantly on her hip, and Laudna had requested hers be posed to highlight her - Chetney interpreted that request as her pointing dramatically, mouth agape, at her wife, and Laudna wouldn’t have had it any other way.
She admired the craftsmanship of the wedding arch they’d just recently kissed under; flowers in every color imaginable, fluttering in the light breeze, each so healthy and content. Fearne had done an incredible job on it - Laudna really, truly owed her one, even if her own son was currently chewing on table cloths and eating all of the flower petals Pâté threw at him. She’d made all the centerpieces, too, and saved the couple quite a bit of trouble in regard to finding a florist, so she supposed she couldn’t get onto her too hard.
The lull ended, her wife rose back up to eye level, and Laudna found herself staring again; because what else, really, was there to stare at in a time like this? The ambiance, the decor, the catering - each was gorgeous, refined, but so secondary. All that mattered was her Imogen. They could’ve gotten married, rushed and illegally, in an alleyway somewhere; they could’ve gone through the whole process at home in their pajamas. They could’ve avoided the whole charade all together, for all she cared; dancing with her wife was the happiest she’d ever felt. The entire rest of the world could have faded away to nothing or died in a fiery explosion or simply walked away into the distant woods, and Laudna doubted she would have even noticed for a good, long while.
Their first dance came to a close, and other friends - coupled up or two drunk to care - began to flood the dance floor alongside them. Laudna took the opportunity to pull her wife in closer, chest to chest; she took a second to linger on the way the teal-to-purple, glittered tones of her eyeshadow highlighted her eyes.
Laudna unlocked her hand from Imogen’s for just a moment, just long enough to tuck her own stray strand of purple hair out of those gorgeous, glimmering eyes.
“You’re stunning… you know that, yes?”
Imogen laughed, and the world froze once more; she had to stumble just to merge back into the slow, melodic pace the dance required.
“Don’t act like you aren’t just as gorgeous. Gods, that dress was a smart choice… you’ve gotta wear rhinestones more often, darlin’.”
Laudna laughed that time, and both of them fell into a steady rhythm of joy, leaning into each other's shoulders just to feel more intertwined with their partner’s presence.
“I don’t think any of our daily activities require rhinestones, love.”
She smiled; a pause, loving and pure. Laudna brought Imogen’s hand upwards to meet her face and kissed it gently.
“But just for you, I’ll buy some more.”
They danced for what felt like hours, laughed for what felt like days, and Laudna realized, around the time the dancing lights among the trees began to fade, that she was right; the rest of the reception had either gone home or fallen asleep haphazardly on one of the dining tables, and she hadn’t even stopped to care.
They both stilled, basking in each other’s warmth alone in the center of the dance floor; occasionally, they’d laugh. They’d swap stories about little tidbits of chaos strewn about the reception. They’d laugh at nothing, even, when the stories ran out, just giddy and childish over the mere concept of love. Of celebration.
Eventually, they formed a pallet out of any tablecloths not doubling as beds and made themselves comfortable in the center of the dance floor, right where the trees parted just slightly and the near pinprick slivers of moonlight could be seen peeking through. Imogen stared up at them, pointing out familiarities, and Laudna stared at her, awestruck.
She was the luckiest woman alive, and it meant the world to her that she could say that now.