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...
It is close to dawn when Lady Elisabeta hears the news of her lover's demise. Her parents discuss it in the drawing room, their voices sounding to be coming from far off. Distorted and garbled like Elisabeta is listening through a glass barrier.
"—and all the wedding arrangements that have been made," her mother is complaining.
"It is a pity." Her father frowns. "I was pleased that Charles was to settle down. He should take his place and oversee matters of the estate—produce an heir or two. But now it seems he must wait till next season."
"I suppose it wouldn't look decent for him to find another bride too soon," her mother agrees. "But hopefully during the Little Season? I'm sure no one expects him to be in mourning for a full year."
"Yes. That will do." Father pauses, looks at her. "What is wrong with the girl? She looks as pale as a ghost."
Elisabeta is numb to the core, expressionless as her parents turn to gaze at her.
"Just her ladylike sensibilities, I daresay. An awful business this." Mother rings the bell and calls for Elisabeta's maid to take her up to her bedchambers.
"She must be faint because her corset is laced up too tightly today," her mother advices her lady's maid as she is accompanied away. "It is necessary of course." She turns to Elisabeta. "But you cannot expect to eat anything in that, Elisabeta, dear."
Elisabeta doesn't respond as she is led up the grand staircase. She enters her chamber, eyes locked on something distant that no one else can see. "Leave me." Her hoarse whisper is barely audible. The maid dips into a small curtsy before shutting the heavy wooden door and scurrying away.
Elisabeta stands stock-still in the middle of the room under some form of anesthesia. She cannot believe this is happening. Nothing seems real. Marienne had been the love of her life. Without her, the very blood in Elisabeta's veins is frozen solid. Her heart is not beating. Not alive. She is not alive.
From out the large windows she sees the crimson sky. Burning bright red on account of the murder.
She walks towards it in a haze.
Elisabeta recalls the words she had uttered many a time to her lover. I cannot live with you, my love. Not even Death could keep us apart.
She can hear Marienne's voice inside her head. Her laughter echoes through Elisabeta's otherwise empty mind. Death cannot come between them. She will not allow it to.
I would follow you anywhere.
Elisabeta steps on to the window ledge, her face still a picture of blankness. She cannot speak a single word nor shed a tear. She feels is already dead.
If she were still alive, perhaps she would stop to think whether this is what Marienne would want for her. If she were still breathing perhaps she would take a deep breath and scream till her throat could make no more sound.
But Elisabeta died upon hearing the news. A swift blow that knocked all the air from her lungs and left her a lifeless vessel. It is time now for her physical body to meet the same state as her mind.
And so, the body falls to the tarmac.
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