drain my soul (and give me my fill) - diluc x reader oneshot

drain my soul

(and give me my fill)

...

A flurry of hands surround your vulnerable form; dressing you, tightening bodices, snipping off sections of hair. You stand on a small stand before a tri-folded mirror, watching it all happen helplessly. Barely able to breathe, both from the anxiety consuming you and the corset constricting your airways, you have to stand up straighter in order to maintain proper airflow.

"Out," Your Mother claps, and the maids around you bow, quickly filing out of the room. She approaches behind you and, without warning, grabs the ties of the bodice and yanks. You keel over, gasping, a strained hand pressed to your chest. Satisfied, she knots the strings in place, properly packaging your organs in. "Up straight, now."

You realign yourself, staring at your reflection in the mirror. Your body is adorned with white, draped and pulled modestly. In finality, your Mother pulls a black box from the dresser, lifting the lid to reveal a string of pearls. Silently, and eerily so, she latches them around your neck. Her hands cage your shoulders as she stands behind you in the mirror, combing over your body in scrutiny. Ready to cut out each imperfection if need be.

"In spite of your incident, by some miracle, you received an offer of marriage. I should be very angry to see you waste it." A finger tucks a stray fly-away hair back into place. "Do not look so tortured, child. Your Father and I met through our arranged marriage. I assure you, it is not as much of a prison as you think. You can atone for your mistake by doing this one thing."

Your frown persists. "Marrying a man I do not know is a worse torture than any prison."

"You do know him," Mother turns you away from the mirrors. "Not well, I don't think."

Who could you be arranged with, offered by, that only knew you a little?

She helps you off of the step and places a bouquet of blood red roses in your hands. After leading you to the grand wooden doors, she enters the ceremony quietly, leaving you alone with your Father. He offers you his arm, which you link your arm through, fighting tears that burn behind your eyes.

"All you have to do is secure the money." He says.

A maid hurries over to fasten a vail to the crown of your head, the sheer fabric falling over your face, only to be lifted by your fiance in a moment - right before he becomes your husband, until death do you part.

"Such a simple task," You mutter, clammy hands tightening around the flowers in your clutch. "To steal five-hundred-thousand mora from my future husband for your debts and have it delivered to you without a trace. I am honored by your faith in my espionage career, Father."

Music starts behind the doors, heavy notes singing from the organ. The sound of hundreds of people rising to their feet follows, and in that small second of terror, you clung to your Father's arm. One last cry of 'please, do not make me do this.' However subconscious, it is in vain. The debts that your Father had dug for himself would not resolve themselves. You are a pawn in the universal chess game of money, of mora, and of relieving an overdue payment.

The doors open, revealing you to the population of Mondstadt– to the countless citizens and foreigners who had gathered from far and wide. It is a spectacle, surely, to get to see who has finally been able to lay claim to the most eligible bachelor in the Nation of Freedom.

You freeze, only the tug of your father's arm drawing you forward. Diluc Ragnvindr?

"I commend you on a strategic match, at least." You whisper angrily, taking your first step down the aisle. The pace is slow, painfully slow. A path to a known, unwanted fate, like walking the plank to a known abyss below. "How did you ever convince such a man to take my hand? He who has no need for a dowry, or a wife, at that?"