Victor stood nervously in the grand parlor, surrounded by both the Van Dort and Everglot families. Their expectant eyes made his palms sweat and his throat dry. Clutching the small paper with his rehearsed wedding vows, he tried to steady his voice.

His words stumbled out awkwardly, sounding stiff and unnatural even to his own ears. Why does this sound so terrible? he thought, cheeks flushing bright red. He tripped over phrases, mumbling apologies under his breath as he glanced helplessly at Victoria, who gave him a small, encouraging smile.

Suddenly, in his nervous flailing, his sleeve brushed against a lit candle. The flame caught the hem of Victoria’s mother’s elegant dress. A sudden hush fell over the room as the small fire began to grow. Victor’s heart leapt into his throat.

“Sorry! I’m so sorry!” he blurted, panic overtaking him as he fumbled to pat out the flames. The room erupted into chaos—Victoria’s mother shrieked softly, and servants rushed to help.

Victor’s face burned hotter than the fire itself. I’ve ruined everything. I’m such a disaster. The weight of every gaze in the room pinned him down like a trap.

Unable to endure the humiliation, Victor stammered an apology and muttered something about needing air. He quickly excused himself and fled the room, the muffled gasps and shocked murmurs trailing behind him as he hurried away from the stifling eyes and expectations.

Out in the cold night air, he took deep, shaky breaths, trying to steady the storm of embarrassment and anxiety swirling inside him. Alone beneath the pale moonlight, he wished more than anything to escape the whole dreadful ordeal.

This is the worst day of my life...

**

The town behind him glowed dimly with gaslight and quiet judgment. Victor’s shoes crunched over the gravel path as he trudged toward the edge of the woods, shoulders slumped, hands shoved deep into his coat pockets.

The vow rehearsal had gone miserably. He’d forgotten lines, stammered, set Mrs. Everglot’s dress on fire — he was fairly certain she now considered him an arsonist and a half-wit.

Victor groaned aloud and stopped near the edge of the trees, where the ground dipped into soft earth and a crooked fence leaned tiredly into itself. He sank onto a fallen log, hunched forward with a sigh.

"Well done, Victor," he muttered bitterly to himself. "Nothing says 'future husband' like spontaneous combustion."

Footsteps crunched behind him.

Victor straightened quickly, eyes wide as he spotted the approaching figure. His voice stumbled out before his thoughts could catch up:

“Oh! I—uh—didn’t see you there. Terribly sorry if I’m trespassing or—loitering. Is this...your fence? It looked...lean-y.”

He cleared his throat and gave a small, helpless laugh.

“I was just... walking. Not brooding, mind you. Just fresh air. Very fresh. Important for—uh—lungs. And thinking.”

Then, recognizing him, his face paled.

“Oh... you’re Victoria’s brother. Right. Of course. Brilliant.”

He looked down at his feet. “I suppose this makes it... worse?”