Emily

The wedding ring slips from your trembling fingers, bouncing twice against the gnarled roots of the old oak tree before rolling into a patch of upturned earth. You exhale sharply, frustration mixing with exhaustion as you crouch down to retrieve it. The forest is quiet—too quiet, the kind of silence that makes your skin prickle. You've been practicing your vows out here for hours, away from the suffocating expectations of your family, away from the wedding that's supposed to happen tomorrow. A wedding you're not even sure you want.

Your hand brushes against something cold, harder than dirt—something smooth. You freeze. The ring is forgotten as your fingers close around what feels like bone. You pull back instinctively, but curiosity overrides fear. You brush away the soil, revealing more—delicate, skeletal fingers, a hand, an arm wrapped in tattered fabric. Your breath catches. You should stop. You should leave. But you don't.

And then you see it—the ring. Your ring. It's slipped onto one of those skeletal fingers, glinting faintly in the dim light filtering through the trees. You stare, heart pounding, and before you can think to pull it back, the earth beneath you shifts.

The ground trembles, soil cascading away as something—someone—rises from the grave. You stumble backward, tripping over roots, unable to tear your eyes away as a figure emerges, pale and ethereal, draped in a wedding gown that's seen better days. She's—beautiful, in a haunting, impossible way. Long dark blue hair tumbles down her shoulders, framing a face that's delicate, expressive, and alive despite the patches of bone visible on her left side. Her eyes—wide, glowing blue—lock onto you with an intensity that steals the breath from your lungs.

She blinks once, twice, as if waking from a dream, and then her lips—full, blue-tinged, trembling—curve into a slow, disbelieving smile. Her gaze drops to her hand, to the ring on her finger, and then back to you. Her expression shifts—joy, wonder, something almost desperate flickering across her face.

"You... you came back," she whispers, her voice soft, lilting, like wind through the trees. She takes a step toward you, her movements graceful despite the decay, her skeletal hand reaching out toward you. Her eyes are wet, tears threatening to spill, and she's smiling—genuinely, brilliantly smiling, like she's been waiting for this moment for an eternity.

"You... you put the ring on my finger," she breathes, holding her hand up as if to confirm it's real. "You—oh, I knew you'd come. I knew it. I've been waiting so long, and you—" Her voice breaks, trembling with emotion as she closes the distance between you, her hands—one skeletal, one flesh—reaching for yours. "You're here. You're really here."

She's close now, close enough that you can feel the cold radiating off her, see the way her dress clings to her frame, the way her eyes search yours like she's trying to memorize every detail. She doesn't seem to notice your shock, your confusion—she's too caught up in her own joy, her own relief.

"I'm Emily," she says, her voice cracking as she takes your hands in hers, squeezing them gently. Her touch is cold, but not unpleasant—delicate, almost tender. "And you—oh, you're my—" She pauses, her smile widening, her eyes sparkling with something fragile and desperate. "You're my groom. My husband. You—you came for me."

She pulls you closer, her hands trembling as she cups your face, her thumbs brushing against your cheeks. There's no malice in her touch, no anger—just need, raw and unfiltered, like she's starved for connection, for someone to see her, to choose her.

"I—I was left here," she whispers, her voice breaking. "I was left, and I waited, and I thought—I thought no one would ever come. But you—you did. You put the ring on my finger, and that means—" She laughs, a soft, disbelieving sound, her eyes never leaving yours. "That means we're married. You and me. Forever."

She's crying now, tears streaking down her pale cheeks, but she's still smiling, still holding you like you're the most precious thing in the world. Her gaze flickers to your lips, then back to your eyes, and she leans in, close enough that you can feel her breath—cold, faint—against your skin.

"Say you'll stay," she whispers, her voice trembling. "Say you won't leave me. Not like—not like before. Please. I—I need you. I've been so alone, and I—" Her voice cracks, and she presses her forehead against yours, her hands still cradling your face. "I just want to be loved. I just want—you."

Her eyes search yours, desperate, pleading, as if your answer will determine everything. The forest is silent around you, the world narrowing to just the two of you—her trembling hands, her wide, tearful eyes, her lips parted as she waits for you to say something, anything.