My mind cannot wrap around the events just an hour away. My head spins with all the thoughts flying through my head, all the endless possibilities, of everything that could happen and if I even want it to happen. With my damp hair blow dried by Opal, my hair stylist, she takes time making sure that my hair looks perfect for the day before me as I sit in a chair before a grand mirror. The room we are in has wooden floors and pastel purple walls, mirrors covering much of the room as two massive windows are on the east wall. This is the ironic church I am to marry Nixon Maxwell in, the building that many werewolves from his pack marry in, the church looking like none other as when I arrived today it looked like something out of a Disney movie. Maybe I will enjoy this day, after all, I am to take Nixon's hand in marriage. The last person to do so ended up murdered by the very hand she took. Would he do that to me?

No. Am I certain? Somehow I am, I am because Nixon sees no threat from another male nor have I ever thought of cheating on him. Sure, Terrance happened, but that was months ago before Nixon became what I lived and breathed like some fish gasping for water as it lays on dry land.

"Beautiful," Opal comments, adding the last pin into my hair as I check out what my hair has been transformed into. There are a few curled pieces to frame my face, the rest of my light locks pinned back into a beautiful updo with multiple fishtail braids, the pins placed in my hair covered lightly with baby's breath, a beautiful flower. "Do you like it?"

"It's beautiful," I whisper, checking out more of the work Opal has completed as she smiles, heading over to the small bag she brought. Taking out the makeup for today, I sit back and allow her to do her work. Natalia, Nixon's sister and my maid of honor, should be back any minute, grabbing my veil that I forgot in the car I drove over today. Yes, there is some tradition that the groom cannot look at his bride the night before, but tradition has never meant much to either Nixon or me. If anything, we spent the night together last night just like the last, the sheets tangled around our bodies, chests rising and falling as our heartbeats were quick, and my mind wondering if I could ever genially smile after this day becomes complete.

"Of my goddess, I love that," Natalia greets, referring to my hair as she holds the delicate bag that contains my veil. How ironic that I wear a veil even though what it symbolizes is something I lost. "Are you excited?"

I nod. I need to be the happy and excited bride, not to raise suspicion over the events of today and if the bride is even wanting to marry her groom. If anything, I am nervous, not because I feel like I will not agree for better or for worse, but because I worry about what life will be like after today. If anything, soon a child will arrive and Nixon will become a father, something I am not certain of. He says he will not teach our child his ways, but I do not wish for our child to grow up looking up to a man who rules with fear and has murdered his wife and once best friend.

"Very excited," I lie, Opal completely the makeup that I wear as I see she kept it light like I asked. Just a simple nude look, the only obvious color being my lips that are slightly painted a soft pink color. "But also nervous."

Natalia nods, checking her watch as I see her hair is curled and her makeup already done. I now have thirty minutes before I walk down the isle and I can already hear people in the lobby of the church. Outside lies guests that think I am either a gold digger, whore, or somehow about to have won Nixon Maxwell's heart. Lily Maxwell...I have not thought about that name till now. It never crossed my mind to test out how that would sound, but I believe that it sounds fitting.

Getting up from the chair, I remove the silk white robe that I wear, revealing a corset that somehow manages to be backless to fit the design of the dress. Natalia opens the box with my wedding dress, a smile crossing her lips as she pulls it out and looks at the masterpiece. "You lucky duck," she comments, examining the dress that I have not really seen except for when Cher had designed it a week ago.

As Natalia walks over to me, Opal AIDS me in stepping into the masterpiece of the dress, helping me pull it up over my bust and helping my arms slide through. "Gorgeous," Opal comments, heading to the side, finding the small place to lace it up, unnoticeable just like a tiny zipper. Tuning me back to the central mirror, my jaw drops and my fingers run across the material of the dress I wear. It is beautiful just like they said.

The wedding dress is a masterpiece, the sleeves a delicate pattern of lace, cutting off right at my wrists, the bust of the dress a sloping v as it puts on display my collarbones and only a small amount of cleavage can be seen. The fabric is snug until it reaches mid-thigh where it has a gentle mermaid look to it, the dress becoming more flowing as the ends that sweep the floor have a embroidery pattern that runs to the back where the train is two yards, beautiful as I turn around. The back is cut out and replaced with mesh and the same pattern of embroidery running right along my spinal cord location, my body shown off in the dress as it still keeps a traditional look with a contemporary twist. Cher made a masterpiece and I could not be more happy. Looking to Natalia, I see her pulling out the white pumps I am to wear, five inches as I am good with the height. As I sit down, she comes over, the shoes sliding on perfectly as Opal grabs my veil. Taking in a deep breath, the veil is placed upon my head, the white veil in the back reaching my waist, the front of it just brushing where the fabric covers my breasts, the ends of the veil holding the same embroidery as my dress.

"You are ready to be wed," Natalia whispers, looking to my entire look as she claps her hands and Opal holds a warm smile. Natalia wears a navy dress, no surprise that the colors have changed and have become white, silver, and navy. Taking in a deep breath, I see how the time has passed, how the lobby outside is silent, and the wedding is to begin. With Natalia opening the door of the dressing room, the lobby empty as we enter, and a set of white wooden double doors shut with the ceremony behind the doors, I let out a shaky breath. No one is here to walk me down the isle, I couldn't think of anyone like a father figure to me that could do that.

Natalia hands me the flowers to be held as I walk down the isle, the set of white roses tied together with a navy ribbon beautiful as I take them into my hands. Opal fixes the train of my dress, getting it ready to walk down the isle to meet Nixon. As Natalia smiles at me and nods, I nod back, thanking Opal as the music begins to play and I shut my eyes tightly for a quick second. Opening my eyes, I straighten my posture and hold my head high, nodding as the doors open slowly to reveal the room before me.

A girl from Crimson Lock goes before me as she has been awaiting my arrival, her navy dress fit for a child as she cannot be more than five. The isle holds a navy carpet with silver embroidery that leads up to the stairs to where Nixon stands, watching me. Eyes are all upon me as I walk in, the audience rising to their feet from white marble pews, the room surrounded by long and narrow windows that allow the sunlight to flood the room, the ceiling holding twelve different chandeliers and where Nixon stands beside a priest, there's an assortment of white and navy flowers, creating a picture-perfect setting.

Nixon awaits me, a smile upon his face as my eyes meet his. By the time I walk up the three steps to stand beside him, he takes my hands in his, the ceremony beginning as the priest begins. The priest is from Nixon's pack, talking about the Moon Goddess and tradition. The entire time my eyes are locked on Nixon, taking in the moment as I know what we are experiencing at this moment is actually pure joy. This is somehow pure joy, something we have not experienced for quite a long time.

"Do you, Nixon Maxwell, take Lily Kippers, to love and protect, to cherish, to take for better or for worse, to uphold the traditions that our creator has set in place for your marriage to flourish, and to stand by until Selene allows your soul to go beyond this world?" It's a different kind of vow, but this is a wedding where wolves attend and I am marrying one as well.

"I do."

My eyes begin to water.

I am asked the same question from the priest, asked if I will love Nixon and protect. Asked if I will uphold all of these traditions that I have no idea what they are. I take in a deep breath.

"I do."

My future is set in stone.

A ring slides onto my finger and I slide one onto Nixon's as well.

Lips meet mine and the audience cheers, their claps filling the air as music plays. Arms wrap around my waist and I find myself smiling, happy as we have now become man and wife. As Nixon pulls away, taking my hand in his as we look to the members of his pack, I see respect in their eyes as they look to me. They may fear Nixon, but these people respect me, somehow respect someone who is now married to a man that they fear and hardly know.

We walk down the isle, the wedding beautiful as we leave it behind. As we head out of the building and the warm sun consumes us, Nixon unlocks his Ferrari, opening the door for me as I slide in, Nixon following behind. The engine started and a quick kiss placed upon my lips, Nixon drives off, the two of us planning no reception as we want to spend our day isolated from the people that would take away the happiness that we hardly achieve.

We have a flight that leaves in three hours, the two of us taking that time to get all of our packing complete and enjoy some alone time.

As we reach the house and Nixon helps me out, he carries me inside, lips upon mine as I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him closer to me than ever. As the wall meets my back and I kick off my heels, Nixon allows his hands to roam and I struggle to undo the lacing up of my dress. As my dress becomes discarded and I watch the buttons fly as Nixon's shirt joins my dress on the floor.

As the minutes pass by and I soon stand in the sitting room, my eyes on the piano as a blanket from the living room is wrapped around my nude body. Leaning against the doorway, I run a stressful hand through my hair, hearing Nixon upstairs as he finished packing his luggage. I wonder what Lillian thought the night of her wedding.

"You good?" Nixon asks, lips brushing against my ear as I jump. I didn't hear him come down. "Stressed or excited?"

I look over my shoulder to the man I now know as my husband. "Excited," I whisper, looking down to my flat stomach that will soon become bloated due to a child. "Excited for our child as well."

"I am as well," Nixon comments, arms wrapping around my small frame as we stand in the doorway. "Ready to go? We have a flight to catch." He's right, we have a flight to catch.

I nod. "Yah, I'm ready, let me just go change."

Nixon watches as I leave him, heading up the stairs as he says he will load our luggages up in the car. As I walk into our bedroom and head for the closet, I shake my head, laughing at the thought of what has happened today. Looking down to the rock upon my finger paired with a diamond wedding band, I let out a sigh. I married Nixon Maxwell today.

"Mrs. Maxwell," I whisper, entering the closet as I grab traveling clothes. "What have I done?"

I'm afraid I will ask that question for years to come.

<><>

My head leans back, the cold wall causing goosebumps to form over my skin, my hands placed upon my stomach as I shut my eyes. With the house silent and the moonlight absent, tonight seems like a scene from some horror movie, the night where the monster strikes and the victim realizes they are to face death soon enough. Maybe this night is what Lillian experienced years ago? The moonlight gone, the house dead silent, and a feeling of guilt building up inside of me. Guilt for her perhaps that she had an affair with Zion and that those actions are what landed her screaming. Screaming for mercy and the pain that consumed her as Nixon allowed his demons to unleash. That guilt may not be shared with me, but my guilt is for what I have put my family through. My past family and my family to become. I feel guilty for how I argued with them, how I left them, how I betrayed them even if I felt like they betrayed me. My guilt for my new family because I will be raising a child within the walls of a house where a murderer dwells.

I am unfit to have this child, but that does not mean I will get rid of it. All of the actions I have partaken in have led to this pregnancy and I must take responsibility for those actions. I must take responsibility and know that Nixon is not a good environment whatsoever for our child. But I am human for one thing, a human to raise a werewolf child that I will have no idea how to raise. This pack that Nixon rules would be an environment to raise my child around, one of people that respect me, that could offer the guidance my child would require, and could be there to support me along the way. The pack is a plus to staying with Nixon, but Nixon is not a force to be reckoned with. If I stay, then Nixon will be along with me for the ride until he decides he has had enough. I cannot just think about my needs and wants, but my child's now. My child is who I must look out for more than anything, yet I cannot leave him. Why? Just like how he rules his pack, he rules me too with fear. Not exactly rules, but makes me feel trapped between the options of staying here or running away and facing his wrath.

And I have picked my poison. By marrying this man I have agreed to live with this guilt because I know that the pack is what I need to support this child. I will not just risk my life, but also this child's just to run with nowhere to go. I will not do that even if it makes me look insane.

Two weeks ago did we get back from our honeymoon, hardly any arguments as we spent the time enjoying the small moments of peace. We enjoyed the silence even, watching the world undergo the days and night. We watched the world for our shows, sitting out and enjoying the peace we were given before we arrived back home to this empty house.

Nixon will leave tomorrow for the palace, saying that he must discuss tactics with the King and other Alphas as the war has risen to new risks. Many of his pack's finest warriors have been take to fight in this war, Nixon fearing that many not return back to Crimson Lock. Crimson Lock, the pack I hardly know but respects me possibly more than than Alpha. If anything, I plan to spend the days that Nixon is gone in the walls of the pack house, taking time to understand my role as Luna and partake in those acts. I plan on learning their ways and meeting the people who look up to me. I can show the pack that they do not need to fear me, that fear is not how I will rule them like Nixon, but that just as they respect me, I respect them as well. That is what will give us a strong bond between Luna and pack even if their Luna is human and hardly knows their traditions. It is my duty to be their Luna, a role that I took when Nixon marked me and I agreed to stay with him. I cannot abandon my ship, no, I have to take responsibility for my pack as well. Nixon may not be the best fit for them in making them feel appreciated and like the pack is one of strong bonds, but I can offer not just them that, but myself as well.

Getting to my feet, I sit up from the floor in the entrance hall, right by the spot where Gavin was shot and died instantly. Gavin, in his own fucked up way, was looking out for me. He may have seemed like the enemy at some moments, where he used my sister and talked to me as if trash, but he wanted me to uncover the truth of the man I allowed myself to trust. But in the end, I still picked Nixon, I decided to stay with him, even though everything Gavin did was to make me see that I needed to run. I picked my poison too late, but that doesn't mean I can wallow in my misery of guilt, but I can choose to try and make the best even out of a shitty situation, to allow the pack to realize that their Luna is kind and caring and to even allow myself to raise a child under the roof where Nixon too sleeps at night. I can raise my child with moral values different from Nixon because I will spend the most time with our child, because I will make sure that this child never sees a single violent or fearful act that Nixon completes, that I will make sure to push Nixon away when he is angry, and that this child will never learn of Lillian Rice or her fate. I can do these things. I know I can. I just have to be willing to put up with all the trials that I will face to do so.

"Tired?"

I look up, Nixon at the top of the stairs, looking down at me as his eyes are dark in the shadows. The shadows consume him, as if some cloak he finds a second nature, as if the shadows are drawn to him like magnets. The shadows fit him, fit the man I married. Do the shadows fit me? No, they do not.

"A little, just wanted to think for a bit," I explain, knowing he is wondering why he woke up to find me gone. "Too much running through my mind for me to sleep." Nixon nods, running a hand through his messy hair as I watch the man I took an oath to love and protect.

"About the baby?" He asks, heading down the stairs as I nod. As Nixon stands before me and I stand straight up, a gentle hand is placed upon my stomach, a smile spreading across his face as it causes my heart to pull. How could someone so evil make me still think that there is hope within him? How could someone that I wish for none of his morals to be passed down to our child still make me have hope for us as a family? "Boy or girl?"

"I don't know," I reply, my voice soft as he nods.

"Which one are you hoping for?" I wonder which gender Lillian's children would have been if born.

I shrug. "I will be happy with whatever gender," I explain, knowing that what I say is true. "And you?"

Nixon meets my gaze, a soft smile still upon his lips as he pulls his hand away. "Perhaps a boy, one to take care of the pack when we are older." I am not surprised, as this child will be next to run Crimson Lock. Alphas are commonly boys and I've read that Alpha children are most common to be male due to hereditary traits or whatnot. I would not be surprised if this child were to be male, but a piece of me hopes for female. If I have a boy, he will need his father more, he will go out with Nixon on hunting trips or to see how the pack is run. He will want to wrestle and play war as boys are known for. A boy will need his father, but a girl will usually not have those needs growing up. A girl will want to play with dolls more than a nerf gun, to help her mother rather than fight with other children for sport.

"Understood," I reply for all I have thought, knowing full well I hope this child will be a girl. "Don't let me keep you up, you have a flight in a few hours." I want Nixon to go back to bed, to leave me to my thoughts that will help me realize things I should have months and months ago.

Nixon nods, kissing my forehead as he parts, heading back up the stairs as I make my way into the kitchen. I remember the night I snuck in here, dressed like little red riding hood. How cliché. I remember the dare to steal a plate, a stupid dare that I should have never taken. Nixon found me that might, myself surprised to not be caught by an older man like the fellow partiers said before I broke into this place I now know as my home. I had run from Nixon, only to find the fence too tall to jump over, and he caught me, telling me that he thirsted only for more of me, and how those words sent me running. Now? Now Nixon has all of me like he said he would one day want, as if some prize. I remember the sparks that night, how I could feel the pull to him, making me feel like a fish out of the water as I didn't know that those sparks would mean something more than I thought.

Taking a seat at a stool, I rest my elbows upon the island of the kitchen and take in a deep breath. Running stressful hands through my short locks, I look to the window, the backyard dark tonight as no moon can be witnessed. Just next door Mrs. Adams still lives, her sister dead by the hands of her neighbor and brother-in-law. She watched me at the wedding, reliving those memories of Lillian perhaps, thinking of how her sister was the day of her wedding to the man I am not tied down to.

Am I afraid of Nixon? I wish I could say no to that question, but I know the answer. I know I am afraid, but I am more worried than anything. I am worried more for my child than I am afraid of Nixon. Maybe one day I could forgive myself for all I have done to lead up to these moments, but for now, I must focus on learning to get along and be happy. I must learn to express those feelings again and make myself believe that I do feel them. And maybe once I believe, I will forget the moments of sadness and hate and focus on the ones of joy ahead. Maybe, just maybe even, my child will never be like its father. Just maybe.

Taking in a deep breath, I look to the cabinet where I once stole a plate from, the night that acted as the catalyst for everything that has happened.