Mia straightens Rowan’s tiara while Evelyn watches indulgently, glowing with happiness.
“Mom, the veil is fine,” Kara protests as her mother makes another adjustment. There’s a black pendant nestled in her cleavage that she refuses to take off. But it works somehow.
“Just making sure everything’s perfect,” Georgia says, her voice thick with emotion.
I watch contentedly, taking in the controlled disorder of the bridal suite. Rose petals scatter the floor, magic sparkles in the air, and joy fills the room with golden light that only I can see. This is how it should have been all those years ago. These women know love in its purest form – the kind that makes you stronger, not weaker.
“Nervous?” I ask Kara, though I already know the answer.
She meets my eyes in the mirror. “Not even a little.”
I smile.
Three brides, three different souls, each dress reflecting their nature. Rowan twirls before the mirror, the light reflecting off the delicate lace that catches the light like dewdrops. Despite her usual clumsiness, she moves with unexpected grace today, as if the dress itself has cast a spell of elegance over her.
Mia’s dress is classic and sophisticated, with clean lines and subtle details. The deep V-neck and form-fitting silhouette showcase her natural poise. Dark sorcery may have touched her soul, but today, she glows with an inner light that outshines any shadow.
And then there’s Kara. My fierce, stubborn Kara. Her dress is bold and dramatic – a statement piece that speaks of confidence and power. That confidence is taking a dip today. She keeps fidgeting with obsidian at her throat, though she’d never admit to nerves. I catch her practicing deep breathing exercises when she thinks no one’s looking.
“Stop fussing,” Mia tells her sister, catching Kara’s hand as she reaches for the pendant again.
“I’m not fussing,” Kara protests, but her fingers twitch toward her neck once more. “I’m just excited to get there,” she adds.
Rowan trips slightly as she crosses the room but catches herself with surprising agility. “The dresses are perfect,” she says, smoothing her skirts. “Just like everything else will be.”
I smile, remembering how each bride chose her dress. Kara fell in love with hers instantly, while Mia knew exactly what she wanted before she even started looking. Rowan tried on seventeen dresses before finding “the one,” though she’d die before admitting how much it mattered to her.
Georgia flutters around them all like a mother hen, adjusting this and straightening that. Evelyn stands back, watching with an indulgent smile, while I perch on a velvet settee, drinking in every detail. These moments are precious – young women on the brink of their greatest adventure yet.
“We’re going to travel, you know. Darick and I,” Rowan is chattering excitedly. “As soon as we get back from honeymoon. He can go wherever he wants now that he’s human, and he wants us to follow the sun around the world.”
“That’s a lovely idea, Ro.” Mia beams.
“Although better to do it now,” says Gran. “Before the baby comes.”
“Baby?” Rowan frowns. “What baby?”
“The one you made last night.” Gran winks.
Rowan’s face is crimson. “Oh, my God, Gran!” She covers her face. “But how could you even know that?”
“I’m a wily old witch, darling. I know when the spark of life has been lit.” Her smile widens. “Do you want to know if it’s a girl or a boy?”
“Holy shit.” Kara is wide-eyed. “I’m going to be an aunt.”
“Me too,” laughs Mia.
And then they’re wrapped in each other’s arms, with Georgia dabbing away a fresh wave of tears. I feel it, too, although it’s been a long time since I gave in to such an emotion.
“You’d better get a move on,” I gently press them, glancing at the doorway. “You don’t want to keep those lovely men of yours waiting.”
The girls gather their bouquets – night-blooming jasmine and moonflowers that I helped cultivate with my magic. As we leave the bridal suite, I can’t help but smile at how perfectly everything has aligned. The sacred grove has waited centuries for a night like this.
We emerge from the house into the warm summer night, and I feel the sorcery stirring. The path to the grove is lit with floating orbs of witch-light while vampire sentinels stand at attention, their formal black attire a striking contrast against the ethereal glow.
The grove itself takes my breath away. Centuries ago, I helped plant these trees, never imagining they would one day witness such a union. Moonlight filters through the branches, creating natural spotlights on the rose-covered arch where the couples will stand. Witch-lights dance among the leaves like stars brought down to earth, while dark red roses – a vampire tradition – twine with protective herbs – a witch necessity.
Below, the gathered communities mingle – something I never thought I’d see. Witches in their ceremonial robes chat with vampires in formal evening wear.
