Epilogue
Straton
The forest clearing glows with afternoon Midsummer light as I stand waiting. However, when Ophelia appears in her white dress adorned with wildflowers, everything else fades away.
We meet at the stone altar, her sons standing as our witnesses. The priestess begins the ceremony, draping colored ribbons across our joined hands–red for passion, gold for prosperity, green for growth, blue for tranquility, and purple for spirituality.
"With this hand, I will lift your sorrows," I vow, the ancient words feeling surprisingly personal. "Your cup will never be empty, for I will be your wine."
As the priestess weaves the ribbons around our wrists, binding us together, I feel the weight of our commitment. "As these ribbons are tied, so your lives are now bound," she declares.
We then exchange our wedding vows in front of our friends and family. How I became the luckiest minotaur in the world, I don’t know. But I am now Ophelia Marwood’s husband and nothing is better than this feeling.