Hello. You may have seen this story posted on Ao3, but I wanted to reach across the pond and share my work with other platforms, so here you go. I'll upload Chapters 1 and 2 for now and upload the rest every week until we're caught up.

Enjoy.

Chapter 1: The Wedding

There was nothing aesthetically remarkable about St. Ignatius.

In light of towering cathedrals and ornate basilicas, one could scarcely believe the rickety old cabin was a church at all. An assortment of Japanese maple and Miharu cherry blossoms protected the little church from being spotted. However, if concentrating hard enough, one could catch the glittering stained glass and smiling Madonna peaking through the tangled brush.

If Hannah had visited on any other occasion, she'd have found the little chapel charming. But alas, there was no charm strong enough to break her melancholy.

And this wasn't a happy occasion.

Examining her surroundings she realized the chapel's interior was as plain as its exterior. Stale incense, seeped into aged oak permeated the air. The small little stained glass windows filtered the morning sunlight in various hues of red, gold and green. Five rows of pews on each side guarded the center aisle. A baptismal font was stationed near the right of the altar. To the left, a lit red candle hovering over a tabernacle indicated that the church had regular parishioners, albeit very few.

Hannah wished a curse would appear from thin air and swallow her whole. Anything but this.

She barely felt the floor as she moved towards the altar. Nervous butterflies pounded in the pit of her stomach with each passing step and the weight of the white chiffon felt enormously heavy. The lace veil obscuring her face and pinned hair, did nothing to invoke confidence. Though she couldn't lift a hand to touch her cheeks, her skin felt unbearably hot and flushed. She wondered if she was sweating through the dress, the bouquet in her clammy grip visibly shaking. The sour taste of bile coated her throat.

She must have made a sorry sight.

A bride should exude the epitome of happiness on her wedding day. She should be woken up to the cliché of bubbling champagne, giggling bridesmaids, and her mother's tears of joy as she placed a wedding veil in her daughter's hair. Her father joining soon after.

If only she had parents to speak of. Not even her dear uncle chose to attend the wedding. Not that I'm surprised, Hannah thought bitterly.

All she had for "family" were the likes of Mother Superior, His Eminence, Cardinal Xavier Wrath, two sorcerers from The Association who she couldn't identify because of their hoods, and a small group of Benedictine nuns in charge of singing a processional hymn.

Their glowering stares were directed solely at her. Resolute and unyielding, as if daring her to make the mistake of running away.

No use in trying. It was too late for that.

And before she knew it, she was greeted by a priest, dressed in his chasuble and stole. He offered her a sad smile. Pity lined his soft brown eyes. An indicator that, he too, wished for her circumstances to be different. If the bride were to guess, the humble Capuchin was probably "obliged" by The Association to preside over the union. Poor Fr. O'Malley had not been given the option to refuse such a request, whereupon he would swear denial for his involvement later. By all means necessary, this wedding was to be kept an absolute secret.

After all, it wasn't everyday that The International Association of Exorcists and the Big Three Sorcerer Families of Japan could breathe in the same room. Much less, attend a wedding.

At this point, Hannah thought it appropriate to glance over her shoulder, her hazel eyes spotting the many Japanese elders in attendance. Even through her veil, it appeared most of them were wrinkly old men, their formal hakama and haori made of fine silk. She recognized the Zen'in, Kamo, and even the Inumaki emblems, kamon as she learned they were called, pressed neatly just below the nape of their necks and sleeve caps. It was comical how distressed they all looked, having to participate in this strange Western wedding. No worries though. Since there was no Mass, the ceremony would only take half an hour at most. They would be released from the awkwardness soon enough.

In an effort to appease both parties, there would be two marriage ceremonies; one Christian, the other Shinto. A naive observer might be believed into thinking this was a show of respect, when in reality both parties were trying to claim superiority over the other. A dangerous game of "my culture is better than yours" and what not. The bride could feel the suffocating tension behind her. It was a miracle no punches had yet been thrown, or fighting words exchanged.

Which brought her back to the task at hand.

The young bride was trying everything in her power not to meet his gaze, eyeing the guests, or looking down at the floorboards. They now stood mere inches apart from each other. If the bride wanted to, she could reach out and touch him, but she didn't dare.

Hannah knew she was shy, but when had she resorted to such childishness? She had already consented to the proposal months prior, dedicated hours to learning Japanese and practicing proper etiquette, and now she couldn't muster the courage to look at him? She could already envision Mother Superior's familiar scowl, shaking her head in disapproval for her incompetence. No, it was better to get this over with then prolong the inevitable.

Besides, didn't she want to put a face to the name?

Closing her eyes, the woman quietly took a breath. Never had her heart hammered so violently in her chest. Her circulating blood was pounding in her ears, it was almost painful. She just wanted this ordeal to be over with.

Stop being such a baby, she mentally scolded herself. Look, dammit.

She slowly opened her eyes and tilted her head a fraction to the right.

The first thing she noticed were his hands, how enormous they were compared to her own, but more specifically the scars. The fleshy white blemishes covered almost every square inch of his knuckles. Most looked old, while others looked fairly recent, retaining a pinkish hue. She could also make out the tiny calluses blotching the tips of his fingers. He was strong, no doubt.

A sorcerer's hands told many things. For one, Hannah knew it took many years of training and spell-casting to forge scars like these, meaning only the most powerful sorcerers possessed such features. Particularly, older sorcerers. Not young men. Hannah had recently turned twenty this past January. It was now April. Wasn't he supposed to be a few years older than her?

The little bride swallowed. There were countless horror stories about jujutsu sorcerers abusing their loved ones, being too powerful for anyone to stop them. Although these were likely fabricated rumors to uphold animosity amongst the East and West, Hannah couldn't stop the grim imagery from invading her mind. What kind of power radiated from those hands? Would he hurt her?

The emblem, printed on the sleeve of his haori, was not lost on her either. She had memorized its features well; a three tiered pine tree in the middle of a circle. The clan soon to be her own.

"Gojo"

Her eyes continued to travel upward, straining to see a chin, but he was so damn tall. How troublesome, she thought. The woman had just about made it past his broad shoulders, caught a flash of white locks, when Fr. O'Malley cleared his throat.

"Hannah and Satoru," he said, shifting his eyes right and left nervously. "Have you come here to enter into marriage without coercion, freely and wholeheartedly?"

At the sound of her name, Hannah eyes snapped back to look at the priest. The silence was deafening. Though she knew what words to say next, her tongue felt as if it were made of lead. There was ringing in her ears and the young bride wasn't sure whether she had spoken the next syllables at all.

"I-I have," came her reply, but not before being accompanied with another.

The bride and groom would have to answer these questions in unison. He must have memorized what to say, she thought. Unsurprising, since she would have to do the same for the second ceremony.

"Are you prepared, as you follow the path of marriage, to love and honor each other for as long as you both shall live?"

"I am," she replied, relieved that her voice hadn't cracked. Their words synchronized again. This time, she could draw out the velvety baritone. It was decidedly masculine; seductive enough to coax anyone into doing his bidding, while striking fear in his enemies' hearts. From the way he spoke, Hannah surmised his English would hold a slight lisp from long usage of Japanese.

"Are you prepared to accept children lovingly from God... "

At the mention of children, Hannah no longer wished the priest to speak. Fr. O'Malley sounded as though he were talking through dense mud. His words began to sink in. Acceptance that the end was near and resistance was futile. In a few seconds, she would no longer be Hannah Thames.

She could almost laugh.

Caught in her sudden nihilism, she hadn't felt the pair of callused hands sliding a gold ring onto her finger, or his simple reply of "I do." She hadn't realized that Fr. O'Malley began talking to her again, or that it was her turn to make vows. She had already tuned half of it out.

"…Do you promise to be faithful to him in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, to love him and to honor him all the days of your life?"

A tingling sensation prickled down her spine, leaving gooseflesh. Her mouth hung slightly agape, less her eyes deceive her.

At last, the young bride had compelled herself to look up.

The chapel.

The Association.

The elders.

Curses.

Magic.

Jujutsu.

Shame.

Guilt.

Fear.

The world faded away.

Because her hazel eyes currently beheld the most wondrous pair of turquoise blue. No ocean could comprehend their depths, as past, present, and future merged within his gaze. A cosmic force that defied the laws of nature. He was impeccably handsome with a long face, strong jaw, and hair white as freshly fallen snow.

Hannah was certain that no greater specimen existed in the known universe. She felt small under his imposing stare.

She slid the gold ring unto his finger.

"I do"

Thus, sealing her fate.

Gojo Satoru, her now husband, pierced directly into her soul.

And his furrowed brows and clenched jaw revealed his silent anger.

AUTHOR'S NOTES

For this chapter's notes, please visit AO3 (Same name).

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