Chapter Text
The mirror was tall, gilded, and a little crooked in the old wooden frame — and yet, it captured Lisa Minci in full, from the fall of her gown to the flush on her cheeks.
She looked radiant.
The dress was made of ivory lace so delicate it could have been stitched by spiders. Long sleeves clung to her arms with floral embroidery winding like vines down to her wrists. The bodice was fitted, with a daring neckline that dipped just enough to make her smirk at her own reflection. Deep violet roses, hand-embroidered in silk thread, bloomed along the hem of the bodice and curled like whispers onto the full, layered skirt. When she moved, it rustled like parchment and petals. The skirt had just the very subtle touch of gold.
Lisa tilted her head, adjusting a single strand of hair that had escaped its loose, curled bun. A violet rose had been pinned behind her ear — Razor’s idea, and she’d been unable to say no.
The room around her, however, was the picture of chaos.
“Where’s the bouquet? The bouquet, Amber!” Alice’s voice rang out from somewhere near the window.
“I had it five seconds ago!” Amber replied, dashing past Lisa with three ribbons tangled around her arms and a half-built flower crown on her head.
Eula was crouched at Lisa’s feet, carefully adjusting the hem of the gown with a soldier’s precision. “You stepped on it again,” she muttered, pinning the lace into place.
Fischl hovered nearby with a pin cushion bristling with needles, muttering something about “aesthetic equilibrium” and “visual symmetry most divine.”
In the corner, Bennett sat very, very still on a wooden stool, hands folded, eyes wide with worry. “If I just sit here and don’t move, nothing can break. Right?” The others considered he shouldn’t be there, but Lisa insisted.
Meanwhile, Razor had a paper plate with five different snacks on it and was trying to offer it to everyone in turn. “Eat. You’ll faint. People faint without food.”
“Razor,” Eula said with the tone of someone who had said it five times already, “stop waving sausage rolls over the dress.”
Amidst it all, Alice commanded the room like a conductor before an orchestra, issuing orders with a wink and a grin. She was at home amidst chaos, after all. “Fischl, switch sides — the light hits that braid wrong. Amber, you’re wearing the flower crown backwards. Razor, you're the only one keeping us from starvation — bless you.”
Klee entered the room, jumping around her mom’s legs, to show her lovely dress. She was their flower girl, and was dressed in a miniature bride like dress, with a huge red bow in the back and her loyal Dodoco on her waist. After getting a lot of praises and a couple headpats, she ran out again saying she had to show it to Jean.
Lisa, for her part, sat at the center of the storm like the calmest bride Mondstadt had ever seen. Her smile was serene, her fingers laced loosely in her lap. She looked at herself in the mirror and then past it — to the people moving like colorful comets behind her — and felt only warmth.
A soft knock came at the door.
It opened just enough for a familiar face to appear: blue hair slicked back, a dark suit sharp against pale skin, a single glove half-undone at the wrist.
Zandik.
“I’ve come to collect the bride,” he said dryly, eyes sweeping over the chaos and then locking onto Lisa.
For a heartbeat, he just stared.
Lisa stood.
The room fell quiet in a ripple. Amber froze mid-run. Eula looked up from the hem. Razor lowered his plate.
Dottore’s breath caught ever so slightly.
“You,” he said, after a pause, voice low and reverent, “are… disarming.”
Lisa laughed. “Disarming? Darling, you can do better than that.”
He stepped closer, his eyes tracing the line of embroidery down her arm. “You’re stunning.”
“Well,” she said, lifting a brow, “you’re not looking so terrible yourself.”
Dottore glanced down at his own dark suit — crisply pressed, no bloodstains, a violet rose pinned at the lapel — and offered a crooked smirk. “Elegant enough to be the groom?”
Lisa rolled her eyes, reaching for his arm. “Patience. Who knows? Maybe someday.”
He chuckled, offering his arm properly this time. Lisa took it without hesitation.
As they exited the room, Alice raised her hands dramatically. “Final formation, everyone! Into positions! Go, go, go!” Under her command, the occupants of the room quickly moved out.
The hallway beyond was quieter, filled only with the soft scuff of Lisa’s gown and the distant murmur of the gathered guests outside.
They stepped into the garden through a back corridor, where strings of witchlights floated mid-air like sleepy fireflies, and petals drifted from the wisteria trees above. The altar had been set in a natural archway of twisted wood and blooming flowers, with rows of wooden benches nestled in a semicircle beneath the open sky.
Lisa took in the scene with a breath. “Is everything alright?”
Dottore glanced at her sideways. “Everything is in place. No explosions. No hexes. The only real threat is Jean collapsing from stress.”
Lisa laughed, rich and amused. “Poor thing. She really is taking this seriously.”
They waited by a side trellis, giving the others time to find their seats. In the distance, Klee was bouncing on her small heels with Razor trying to keep her from running up the aisle early.
Finally, the music began — a soft, enchanting melody played by a quartet of bards using a mix of lyres and enchanted chimes.
Lisa turned toward the entrance where Diluc awaited her.
He was dressed in formal black, crisp and tall and just a little awkward, holding out his arm for her like it was heavier than he remembered. Lisa smiled warmly and took it. Somehow, he was the closest thing she had to any family — that is, before marriage.
They stepped forward together, slow and steady.
At the end of the aisle stood Jean.
She wore a deep navy tailcoat with a matching skirt, sleek and tailored, with a violet rose in her pocket to match Lisa’s dress. Her shoulders were square, chin lifted — every inch the acting Grand Master. But her hands twisted slightly at her sides, betraying nerves, until she saw Lisa.
And when she did, her whole body softened. Her shoulders relaxed, her eyes gentled, and Lisa swore she could feel her heartbeat echo in her own ribs.
At the altar, Diluc turned to Jean and offered Lisa’s hand.
“Take care of her,” he said simply.
“I will,” Jean replied.
Alice stepped forward, her smile broad and mischievous. She wore a robe in tones of wine and gold, a wildflower crown in her hair, and carried an old leather tome that looked like it might combust from joy. She was chosen to lead the ceremony — the church didn’t accept to hold marriages outside the cathedral, and an event outside was much more the style of both Jean and Lisa, so they chose Alice to be their priestess. A mage like her certainly knew how to do it.
“Dear guests, magical misfits, elemental enthusiasts,” she began, arms spread wide, “we are gathered under sky and starlight to witness a bond not merely of soul and mind, but of spark and storm and sweet scandal.”
The crowd chuckled. Lisa bit her lip to keep from laughing aloud.
“Lisa Minci,” Alice continued, turning to her, “do you vow to love Jean with all the fire in your blood, with all the thunder in your wit, with all the chaos in your magic?”
Lisa grinned. “I do.”
“And Jean Gunnhildr,” Alice turned now, “do you vow to love Lisa with all the steel in your spine, the stars in your eyes, and the stubbornness of ten gods combined?”
Jean’s voice was soft but sure. “I do.”
Alice looked out to the crowd. “Then may the winds carry these vows and the earth root them deep. Bring forth the symbols!”
Razor and Klee trotted up the aisle with small cushions, each carrying a ring. Klee nearly dropped hers, but recovered with a giggle. Lisa and Jean exchanged bands of deep silver, each one engraved with tiny constellations and a single violet gemstone.
“You may now kiss the bride,” Alice declared, winking.
Jean didn’t hesitate.
She stepped forward, took Lisa’s face in her hands with surprising certainty, and kissed her.
The crowd erupted into cheers.
Lisa kissed her back, slow and smiling, one hand tangled in Jean’s collar, the other resting over her heart.
And just for a moment — under lanterns and moonlight, with petals falling and magic humming in the air — all was perfectly, incandescently still.
The stars had begun to scatter more boldly across the sky, bleeding into the deep violet of night, as the final laughter and chatter of the wedding feast echoed across the garden. Golden lanterns floated gently above the tables, now half-empty and tangled in ivy. The scent of wildflowers and lingering desserts hung lazily in the summer air. Lisa stood barefoot on the wooden deck, her fingers curled delicately around the silky bouquet.
She turned her back to the crowd.
A beat of anticipation passed.
And then she threw it.
The bouquet flew — not with the chaotic, bumbling arc most would expect, but with an almost purposeful elegance. It twisted once in the air, dodged a reaching Amber, soared past a startled Fischl, and landed squarely into the unprepared hands of one man in particular.
Dottore stared at the thing.
A soft explosion of laughter erupted behind him as he blinked at the tightly woven cluster of lavender roses and amethyst-tinted lilies, his fingers closing reflexively around the stems. He looked up just in time to meet Lisa’s unmistakably smug smile. Jean, standing beside her, covered her mouth to hide a grin.
He rolled his eyes. Dramatically. But a twitch of his lips betrayed him.
The guests slowly began to disperse. Amber herded the younger ones toward the inn; Eula whispered something to Rosaria before taking Fischl by the arm; even Alice vanished with a theatrical swirl of her cape — leaving only a Dodoco behind.
Dottore approached the pair of brides, still holding the bouquet like it was a suspicious chemical compound.
"Well," he began dryly, his voice low as ever, "I assume this was your idea."
"You assume correctly," Lisa said sweetly.
He turned to Jean. "Everything in order now, Grand Master?"
Jean gave a breath of laughter, rubbing the back of her neck. "Somehow, yes. Despite all odds."
Lisa huffed a chuckle, elbowing Jean with affection. "Even you have to admit it was a lovely ceremony."
Before Jean could respond, the Traveler appeared with a bright smile, Paimon hovering at their shoulder.
"Photo time! We need one of you all together. You know, for posterity!"
Dottore made a motion to step aside, but both Lisa and Jean each grabbed one of his arms without hesitation. He blinked, caught.
"Come now, you’re part of this too," Lisa teased, squeezing his arm.
Paimon huffed, crossing her little arms in mid-air. "Seriously?! You’re keeping him around? After everything ?"
Lisa only laughed, a warm, full sound that made Dottore’s chest feel oddly light. "You better get used to it, dear."
Paimon spluttered. "You two can’t possibly enjoy his company?!"
Jean, surprisingly calm, simply shrugged. "We do."
The Traveler gave a lopsided smile. "Not the first Fatui we’ve learned to tolerate."
Dottore glanced sideways, somewhere between flustered and disbelieving. His mouth opened, then closed. Finally, he muttered: "I can... try to be pleasant. Occasionally."
"That’s already a miracle," Lisa said, amused. Dottore huffed.
The shutter clicked.
Later, when the lights had dimmed and the last slice of cake had been claimed, Lisa sat alone in the quiet garden. Her shoes were abandoned somewhere near the archway. The soft chirping of crickets blended with the murmuring of the river nearby. She tilted her head back, watching the stars blink in patterns only she seemed to understand.
She heard footsteps — two sets. She smiled before opening her eyes.
"There you are," Jean said softly.
"Of course she’d sneak off," Dottore added, exasperated but fond.
Lisa grinned lazily at them. "You two are impossible . Even on a day off, you work yourselves to the bone."
They exchanged a knowing glance. Jean sighed. Dottore just looked like he couldn’t deny it.
"Come sit with me," Lisa said, patting the bench. "Just for a little while. Before we vanish into the next chapter."
They obeyed. Jean to her right, Dottore to her left. Lisa leaned her head against Jean’s shoulder, her fingers seeking Dottore’s. He took her hand without hesitation, and then — without a word — began to gently massage the arch of her foot, earning a delighted hum from her.
"Bless the Archons," Lisa sighed, eyes fluttering closed.
Silence settled again. Stars wheeled slowly overhead. Then Jean’s voice broke through, soft and sure.
"I don’t mind staying here a little longer. But... just so you know—"
She pulled a set of parchment slips from her pocket. Tickets.
"I booked three boat tickets to Fontaine."
Lisa blinked, sitting up slightly. "You... what?"
"She means," Dottore interjected, voice smooth, "that we planned also a larger room in Fontaine. And I personally know some nice spots for tourism in the city."
Lisa laughed, sudden and breathless. She looked between them, her heart too full.
"You two—" She didn’t even finish the sentence. She leaned in, stole a kiss from Jean’s lips, then turned and did the same to Dottore, quick and reverent.
Then she stood.
"Well, what are we waiting for?"
She offered her hands to both.
Together, they rose.
And together, they walked into the night.
Ready for whatever came next.