corpse bride → EDWARD CULLEN

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄
— 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒹𝑒𝒶𝒹 𝑜𝒻 𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉, 1952 —

   𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐏𝐒 were too light to be heard by the quiet creatures peeking from the woodland ahead; though the heels that embraced her feet nearly guaranteed a sound to gain the attention of anyone close by, the promise was broken when her decided aisle was among the beauty of nature instead of the warmth offered by the chapel near her home. He insisted that the night was more stunning than the rows of empty pews that would surround the couple in the church, and in the moonlight she seemed to glow brighter than any lighting that could be provided by a candle. The atmosphere was calm with the whisper of a brief, occasional wind, in which she would bring her arms closer to her chest in order to brace for the upcoming shiver. But when she thought of the moment in which he would arrive, she almost forgot about the low temperature that practically beckoned for her to take to a fireside.

Her fingers tightened around the burlap bag in her grasp, making soft fairy noises as the coins inside brushed ever so slightly against each other. The amount inside was enough to make sure the couple would get farther away than she could every want — and after that, it would assure a gentle life that she hoped would consist of a white picket fence on the countryside, and a garden she would care for. But for now, she was graced with this very moment, waiting for her beloved to sweep her from her exhausted feet. They would elope this very night, but not before making an escape from the town that had claimed their lives for far too many years.

As she runs her chilled fingertips over the bodice of her gown, a gentle smile falling upon her lips, she finds his silhouette in the near distance. His stride is broad, yet hesitant, but what more did she expect? He, too, is facing the uncertain future that lies ahead. With a single hand stuffed away in his pocket, she anticipates a velvet box in his shaking palm and within it, a silver band to promise a lifetime of faithfulness and love. He offers her a calloused hand and unwavering eyes, his other still out of sight. Words needn't be spoken — the couple would meet an officiant in the forest for their sacred vows, where no other would bear witness.

Discarded twigs and broken leaves tug at the extended lace of her dress, and the damp soil below the lovers stains it in greed. Or perhaps the earth was trying to warn her of what lies ahead . . . if only she had listened.

Once they arrive at a clearing in the woodland, she turns to him expectantly. "Charles," her voice is gentle as she places a hand on his cheek, "when will he join us? I worry my parents will notice my absence before we can leave."

But he only takes the burlap from her fingers and places it upon the ground, seemingly steadfast. "My love, I have discovered that I can not marry you."

Without his touch, the girl's skin is chilled. His words shatter her heart with ease, and  her chest constricts from the break. Fragility laces her tone, and tears sting her eyes, "I . . . I don't understand. We were going to follow our dreams."

When his hand is finally removed from his pocket, the boy reveals a golden dagger, and he flips it between his fingers. Charles stares down at it, before averting his attention to the burlap. "My dreams will soon come true, my love, and you are making it possible."

The boy forcefully shoves the dagger through her jaw, resolute as crimson drips from her lips and prevents her from screaming. The pain is too much to tolerate as he removes the stylet, sending his broken-hearted lover to the soil below. Her tears stain her cheeks as he plunges it into her abdomen, forever changing the color of the lace dress. As the teenager sputters, heaving blood and reaching out for the soulmate that betrayed her, he retrieves his dagger, and places it within the material that simultaneously contains her savings.

And he leaves her there to rot.