Two brides. A love to die for.
Let corpses litter the cathedral, drained bodies taking the place of roses. For one way or another-
Vows will be exchanged.
_________
Sapphic vampire-werewolf erotica, loosely based on Bram Stoker's Dracula. This got...
"I want to make love to you one last time, before what's to come." Elisabeta turns her head to the side, pressing her chin into her shoulder.
They had spent the day shopping for Marienne's trousseau. Piles of ribbons and fabrics are heaped on her bed and several new pairs of shoes are strewn around the chamber. Mother had permitted them to take tea upstairs on account of it being Marienne's last day at home.
"It won't be the last time," Marienne swears, but she knows it's the last time it will be the same.
Everything is prepared for her wedding ceremony tomorrow. Marienne had watched the flowers being brought in, hundreds upon hundreds of pure white lilies. An offering to the Goddess of Death.
It strikes her as odd that weddings are sanctified under the Goddess of Death and not the Goddess of Love. Death is the only Goddess for whom chapels are built and prayers are chanted to.
But then again, Love has no place in their marriage, and fear of the Undead has the living worshipping and honouring Death in as many instances as they can.
Marienne places a finger below her lover's chin, turning her face towards her. "My darling."
Their kiss is slow and unrushed, both of them knowing it's the end and wanting it to last forever. Soft lips slide over soft lips, smooth hands touching smooth skin. There is something so romantic in the fragile nature of their breakable heaven.
The twin suns dip low in the sky as corsets are carefully unlaced and ribbons are pulled off pinned up hairdos. Elisabeta's fiery curls are russet under the setting suns. They spill over her shoulders like silk over creamy skin.
Marienne had always hated the yellow curtains that hung over her windows, embroidered with tiny pink rose petals. It had felt too childish or too feminine and too unlike her. But she has to admire the way the evening light filters through the yellow taffeta and casts golden streams of light over Lizzie's heart-shaped face. It brings out the golden flecks in her forest green eyes, like sunlight dappling through leafy branches.
Looking into them make Marienne imagine running off into the woods and living beneath the trees. They give her foolish ideas of freedom. Those same eyes are now looking at her half-lidded in lust. Some seductive fae creature put on Ather to lead her astray.
And Marienne would happily be led astray.
She kisses Elisabeta's closed eyelids, feeling her lashes flutter against her lips. She wants to kiss every inch of that soft skin, and so she does. There's nothing between their heated skin. No restricting garments and bundles of fabric.
Sinking into Elisabeta's skin is like sinking into a bed of roses. Her feminine perfume permeates the air, sweet and floral. Marienne wants to stay like that forever, just the two of them of her four-poster bed. No social pressures and family expectations. No one but them.
Let the world outside burn and fall to ashes.
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