Her feet, padded against the cool stone, peeking from the slit in her deep, wine colored<a class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fimgur.com%2FjNmu9GY&amp;hash=92ba96bec983be66d1a552af69fdb32a" href="https://imgur.com/jNmu9GY" rel="nofollow ugc noopener" target="_blank">robes</a>. Each step brought her closer to the altar at the end of the path. The aisle was lit with wrought iron candelabras, flames wavering as she walked by. Even the fading sun in the sky provided illumination, lighting the floors with brilliant colors through the mosaic glass. The pews were not filled as they were in mass. All was silent save for the melodic jingle of the chains and jewels that hung from the circlet on her head, like a halo atop of a crown of pale blonde locks. Her long, silvery hair framed a lovely and youthful visage despite the traces of irritation in her expression. Doe-like brown eyes, lined with thick, dark lashes, did not gleam with the luster of pride present in most mages as they traveled down the holy passage. There was no hint of excitement, or sense of enthusiasm, for the bonding ritual about to commence. Bound by old customs and tethered to past transgressions of her ancestors, the ceremony signified the end of one way of life and thrust upon her a new one.<br/><br/>At the end of the channel she traversed was a priest, adorned in pristine white robes. He outstretched both his hands to her, presenting his rings for her lips to press upon. With her head lowered, she kissed each one on his bony, old fingers before falling to her knees to be blessed with a prayer. Reciting scripture in holy tongue, she listened to the unfamiliar, yet musical words he offered her. Though she could not decipher them, she was taught the gist of his blessing like every other well-educated mage. They were hopeful words, but binding ones. He spoke of duty, of unwavering loyalty to their kingdom, and of expectations for honesty and honor to be offered to her charge. Her warrior, who she would protect with her very own life . . . Because soon, his life and hers would be forever merged. As the elderly priest concluded, he turned to retrieve an ornate gold chalice. The contents made her feel lighter after she lifted it to her lips as the properties filled the reservoir of mana within her, causing it to overflow. The bitter concoction made her feel jittery as energy coursed through her veins like rushing waters.<br/><br/>“Arise,<a class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fi.imgur.com%2F4olw6wt.jpg&amp;hash=6231ab497a00489fe78a7fe721d9ca70" href="https://i.imgur.com/4olw6wt.jpg" rel="nofollow ugc noopener" target="_blank">Alaria Amina Everard</a>of Madrigal, Wielder of Earth and Flame.” The priest instructed, taking her hand gently to help her to her feet once again. He began to recite more words as he plucked a thin brush from the small bowl beside the chalice. Alaria turned her palms upward, hands trembling from the excess mana welling inside her. Remaining as still as possible, she allowed the priest to paint inky, black symbols on her delicate palms and fingers though the bristles tickled her with each stroke. While decorative and intricate, every glyph served a purpose. Bonding was a fragile process, and surprisingly dangerous for both parties involved. There were a number of things that could go wrong. Mages studied and practiced all their lives so they did not have to suffer the shame and embarrassment of a poorly former bond or injury to their charge. It was a corner Alaria did not possess—and not necessarily because she did not care for the well-being of her warrior. She was simply confident and capable, attributes that the Lord and Lady who approached her valued among many other things.<br/><br/>“Are you prepared to receive your charge?” He asked when he completed the symbols, smiling broadly. Members of the church were always thrilled for such momentous occasions, proud of the solution they implemented alongside the monarchy long ago in response to the mage uprising. With that in mind, she hesitated. Though she had no real say in the matter, and would be punished for declining at this point, she contemplated refusing. It was tempting, but ultimately foolish.<br/><br/>“I am.” Alaria agreed softly, a deceiving nod of her head to convey her certainty caused the trinket upon her head to chime against the silence. The gravity of her situation settled on her, causing her to feel heavy with the weight of responsibility.<br/><br/>“Very good, child.” The priest placed a hand against her cheek, a consoling gesture since his wise, perceptive eyes picking up on her subtle uncertainty. He waved, a gesture to bring forth the warrior. The heavy double doors opened, and behind them would be the man who she would be eternally linked to until her death or his.<br/><br/><br/><a class="username" data-user-id="1092" data-username="@Oniy252" data-xf-init="member-tooltip" href="https://blackdahliaroleplaying.com/members/1092/">@Oniy252</a>