Bella arrives in the mien of a decorated hero. She arrives wreathed in gold and crimson, like her eyes and not the black she donned when she first took hold of an Imperial title. Instead she has the seeming of someone more than worthy of the most coveted bride in the galaxy: a princess in her own right. Or maybe more accurately than that, a prince. 

A clean white robe sits elegantly atop her chest, tucked neatly into a blackened leather waist corset cinched tight with a pair of golden belts that perches with tantalizing grace across her hips. Underneath the robe, the folded collar of a dress shirt, and draped overtop of it connected to a red ribbon and a golden pendant of a crescent moon wrapped around a star: a series of layered crimson straps that cling to the underside of her ample chest and then hang loose as they dip closer to her waist. Her pants are a match for her robe, smooth and clean and loose as they flare a little away from her thighs only to pull tight against her knees and tuck into the heavy black boots with the high, flat heel that lifts her further off the ground than her normally impressive stature already manages. A golden chain with a matching moon-and-star pendant wraps around her pocket and glints with the regal bearing of a house she has yet to found. This demigod, this child of the moon-which-foreswore-love, has descended.

Draped across her shoulders is a long and flowing cape of the same brilliant and furious red as her Auspex. The shoulders are decorated in gold filigree winding and spiraling patterns like rose petals and twisted stems that wind down the hem along the front of her arms and all the way to the ground where the fabric brushes against the floor. Bella flexes her fingers, and five golden talons glint in the light shining on the shrine, with each ruby inlaid on the second knuckle blazing like a setting sun on some planet where the Skies are not so Endless and that kind of thing would be allowed. For once she wears these talons over her natural claws, not compensation for anything lost or broken and not a tool of servitude, but a celebration of her beauty and perfection, and a promise of her power. She wears no sword at her hip; she has no need of it. 

Her blue-black hair is dotted through with golden ribbons that bind a series of thick and elegant braids together in layer after layer that cascade like a waterfall down her back. Red and gold the eyeliner painted in opposition to the mismatched eye it accents, set against deep black shadow that pulls out the animal shape of her eyes. Everything that makes her herself is beautiful. It is to be celebrated. On her perfect skin, no attempt is made to enhance it. The lone remaining concession to improvement are her ruby painted lips, so that when she smirks to see her princess carrying her flowers, it creates an arresting and bloody backdrop for her fangs to sparkle against. 

And smile she does. She is Bella, and she has come to wage war. 

"Hey, Redana~" she sings in greeting. 

"Of course I'll have you," she adds a moment later, "My Ember. My bride."

She does not blush or stiffen when she says it. Neither does she wait at the altar of Hera, but saunters down the steps with the exaggerated flow of her hips that marks Mosaic's absolute confidence in a hunt, and places her golden talons on Ember's wrists. With a whisper of sharpness she cuts the bindings loose. With a gentleness that belies the danger of this conquering heroine who crossed the great Rift and lived, she brushes the back of her hand underneath Ember's veil and caresses her cheek. A moment later she is a flash of violence that shatters the electric prod torturing her lover. These things have outlived their purpose, she declares with a flick of her beautiful tail as it peeks from beneath her cape. She will not suffer them to mar the ceremony any farther. 

And then she turns on her heels and glides back to where she first appeared. And offers a deep bow with a wide flourish of both her arms not to the proxy terminal of Liquid Bronze, who could not deserve the gesture less if he tried, but to the polite rows of Summerkind warriors who sit and wait for whatever it is they're meant for. 

"I'd like to thank you all for coming to my wedding. I couldn't ask for a more magnificent host. When this lovely vision of Ceron and I are joined, it will mean the end of a long journey. And the beginning of a new one. Though I have already been gifted it, I ask once more in front of you all for the blessing of Queen Hera to take this woman for my own, and promise to live a life that no empire has yet dreamed of."

She looks up at the deadly gathering around her. One wrong move and they'll all descend, and against them a mere Praetor and a Ceronian Imperial Princess, without even the promise of a sacred hunt to guide them through the shadows back to safety. But her eyes have all the sunken hunger of the sunshark rampaging in the sea above them, and all the frozen fury of the Lady Artemis having been caught bathing once again.

"I am Bella Hostilius Mosaic: Ember is mine and no one else's."