till death do us part
(wenvier corpse bride au)
“With this hand, I will lift your sorrows. Your cup will never empty, for I will be your wine.” Xavier mock-bows
With this candle, I will light your way in darkness. With this ring, I ask you to be mine.”
Xavier slides the ring onto a branch and sighs in resignation.
He won’t ever please his father, no matter what he does, so the least he can do is give Enid Sinclair the respect and ceremony she deserves. They were both forced into this political alliance. He wouldn’t make a genuinely good soul like her suffer as he has.
Xavier brushes his hand underneath the thin branch, as if he were lifting Enid’s hand, imagining wedding bells faintly ringing in the wind. Looks at the golden ring that holds more history than he could ever be worth.
Seemingly out of nowhere, white flashes blink in his peripheral.
Furrowing his brows, he leans down and swipes at the snow a little to the right of where he kneels. He’s surprised to find a lightly rusted dagger buried amongst the ice, dew, and vines. Other than the melted ice that caused a layer of bronzed decay, it looks to be in perfect condition. Unscathed and unused.
He cautiously picks it up and starts untangling it from the tendrils and twigs. Until the twigs move and twist around the hilt. He drops it in shock, scrambling back on his cold, bare hands. The blade raises with the vines and sticks, and Xavier realizes they’re gripping the dagger.
His heartbeat pounds in his ears and he can only watch as the pale sticks—no, bones—claw at the snow. The earth starts to crack in front of him, and a ghostly hand emerges from the ground. He can’t think, can’t process, can’t comprehend what is happening. The worry of disappointing Enid is suddenly a small thing, because how can he disappoint her if he’s dead by sunrise, by whatever horrific monster he’d sworn had been a figment of his twisted imagination, merely a drawing on a page?
A shadow in the night, he can make out the silhouette of a woman in a dress, black as coal. A long veil of ripped tulle catches rays of light, illuminating the head of the unearthly being. One hand fists the aged dagger, the other slowly pulls the wispy veil back, and Xavier forgets everything but the woman in black, stark against the white of the moon. She is the most beautiful creature he has ever seen.
Her bone-exposed hand lifts, and it isn't until he is blinded by a glint of moonlight that he realizes her silver dagger is poised for his heart.
He rolls quickly out of the way, eyes wide in shock and fear. She moves as silently as the slain, the only sound a whistle of the dagger as it flies through the air and hits the spot where he had just been.
The woman looks up from the pile of snow she plunged her blade into.
“I do,” she rasps. Her voice is withered, as if decades of rot disallowed speaking. As sharp as the weapon she wields, cutting into his fear and slicing the silence until all that’s left is her cold, dead presence. Chilling shivers crawl down his spine.
“And for that, you will pay.” She lunges.
