"Until death do you part."
"Until death doth us part," Scott translated. Kind of the clearest indictment of heaven he knew: death would part us? Where's the love in that? Let it go, he reminded himself, raking his eyes over the medieval vaults. Scott was done. He was married. He stopped repeating the minister's words. More than a few sighs escaped. "Aw" murmured the congregation.
"Oh, that was perfect!" his sister whispered. "You are so lucky, Scott!"
He could almost hear her. She was a good encourager. A family brace. She'd always had loads of friends. Growing up, if Scott looked lonely to her, she'd assign some of her many friends to be nice to him, at least lightly. "Once a day, say hi. It will make Scott's day. You remember what it was like to be a freshman? You could be preventing a suicide!!!! No," [magic fingers ensued], "not Scott! Somebody. Spread the love."
Now he noticed. Odd: the bride's vows hadn't stopped at the same place. They were longer. Her vows asked for more.
"Amber, do you realize that people never really change?" the minister said. "That they will apologize and feel shame for their bad behavior. YET. They will continue to do the same irritating, inflaming, vile, disgusting, irrational acts over and over. Men are pigs.
"And do you understand that optimism is an unnatural condition? That fear and pessimism are Darwinian?"
Scott was glad he'd brought the chloroform, in a sealed plastic bag. Though he didn't disagree, this minister worried him. Boundary issues mostly. He seemed to be slowing down though.