As Pristine made herself ready for what was to come, a knock sounded on the heavy oaken door to the dressing room. Covering her bare upper body, she opened the door a crack and peeked out to see one of her closest friends and apprentices, Adryanna, on the other side. The tall unicorn was dressed in her normal attire of purple silks, each of three layers working to cover her dark fur and complement her teal eyes. She gave Pristine a quiet smile as the door opened for her entry.
	Pristine stepped over to her dresser and picked up a white corset with a rueful smile. Stepping in front of her largest mirror, she pulled the corset on, and raised her arms into the air.
	 “Tie me up?” she asked Adryanna politely, motioning to the laces on her backside. The mare nodded and stepped over to pull the laces tight and tie their ends into a bow. Pristine turned around and the white satin dress she was wearing shimmered and whispered across her standing pedestal.
	 “Something old.” Adryanna prompted.
	 “My silver barrettes.” Pristine said as she slipped them on over her ears to hold her hair in the straight style it looked best in.
	 “Something new.” Adryanna continued in a sing-song voice as she meandered over to the large bay window to examine the curtains.
	 “The necklace he gave me to go with the ring.” Pristine reached up to touch the silver pendant and make sure it was still there.
	 “Something borrowed.” Adryanna laughed as she skipped over to Pristine and merrily pinned a ceramic teal rose – one of her magic amplifiers – to Pristine’s dress.
	 “… and something blue.” Pristine finished while she tied around her waist a sash of pure azure silk. Adryanna nodded as she watched Pristine watch herself in the mirror, then quietly stepped out the door. Pristine followed after her slowly. It was time.

	As she walked down the aisle, crushing withering flower petals beneath her high silver heels, she thought about many things, above all of which was the desire to turn on her heel and run out of the cathedral. Seeing her groom standing at the end of the aisle with his goofy grin and teary eyes made her feel all that much worse, and she swallowed a lump of guilt and another of dread.
	Anthian Letan was dressed in a tuxedo as black as his fur and accented by a few green and red items, such as a green carnation in one buttonhole and red cufflinks. He had trimmed his green hair in a straight line above his yellow eyes, which were misting at the sight of her walking down the aisle. She stepped up to him, and as he took her hand, the priest began to marry them.

	The speech seemed to take a long time, mostly because Pristine was considering her life before Anthian. Not her past, but the males that she had come in contact with since she had first come to Furcadia. Prominent were both a man named Sir Artimidorus and one named Saratar.
	Sir Artimidorus, an assassin of sorts, had been her first friend in Sanctuary and a protector. He was unpredictable, wild, outgoing and rarely serious. This suited Pristine at times, but at others it was a little annoying. Though he never left her without making her laugh at least once, and though he respected her as much as she could hope for anyone to, there was still something about him that made her wary. His apparent lack of self-control at times made him intolerable.
	Saratar had a longer story. She hadn’t known him for as long, but she had gotten to know him well enough to realize that she and he had little chance with each other. From the moment they had met inside the walls of Sanctuary, Pristine had realized that they were made for each other perhaps more than any pair she had ever seen. For every one of each other’s questions they had an answer, and though they fought occasionally, they communicated on a higher level of intelligence and maturity. At least, that’s what she thought.
	The problem with Saratar was that he wasn’t around when she was. They had different, conflicting schedules, and thus she was forced to give up on him. She had played hard-to-get when she had her chances, but it had been far too long of a game. She had become weary of seeing him with girl after girl and wondering some nights if he was still awake somewhere, having a good time with the women she was inclined, through jealously, to call floozies. Though the thought never drove her to insanity, it occasionally nagged her at the most inopportune times.
	She wanted each one of them; Sir Artimidorus, Saratar, and Anthian. By rights, after two thousand one hundred and forty-five years of life, she should have gotten whatever she wanted, when she wanted it. It shouldn’t have been a big deal for her to be seeing three men at once. Unfortunately, there was a little tension between each and every one of them, and though polygamy was often encouraged in some worlds, Furcadia’s moral structure was different.
	
	Sighing, she watched the priest give her life away to a man that she only cared about a third of the time. If fate was cruel, the truth was even more so, and that truth was that she was bound to be truly mate-less for the rest of her life. Saratar had once praised her good fortune at being married before, but she guessed that his experience lay with only one person; someone who was his perfect match. She had none that she knew of; if they existed, they were worlds away, and she would never find them in time.
	The wedding continued without a hitch, rings, vows, and even rice and bouquet throwing. Throughout the joyous occasion, Pristine was pensive. She wondered if this new beginning was really the end.