❛     ⸺     𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐃𝐘 𝐎𝐅 𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐒 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋 𓈒

❛❛     ⸺      𓈒

              “My lady” The messenger spoke, gaze averted, hands trembling. 

He seemed distraught, struggling to stay composed in front of the woman, 

“He is dead.”

He was dead. The man she was to be wed to within a fortnight, had died. In an accident was what she was told. His carriage had crashed on his way back to town, not one survivor remained.

❛❛     ⸺      𓈒

              On the day of her supposed wedding, a thick veil covered her visage, her dress simple and heavy, as expected of a mourning bride. 

It was a strange ordeal, the entire thing, grieving someone she never truly belonged to.

He had been a kind man, yes. He had offered to save her family’s social standing, elevate them in the ranks of society after her father had drunkenly gambled their wealth away. 

Yet, she couldn’t say she particularly mourned his passing. She did not know him well enough to form any sort of attachment to him.

And if she was being truthful, there had always been this feeling. An unsettling chill that rested beneath her skin during every conversation they shared, every stroll they embarked.

He was a kind man, but there was something lurking beneath the façade that she still could not seem to place.

His death was just as mysterious as he had been. She had never been given permission to see his body. His coffin remained sealed shut from the beginning of the procession until it was buried deep underground. There was no investigation launched on the details of the crash. 

It had simply been stated as a fact that had been quickly accepted by the public. Too quickly, to say the very least.

“Poor girl. She is fortunate not to be permanently tied to such a tragedy.”

She was fortunate. Had she married him, she would have been powerless, left a childless widow to be trampled on, constantly viewed in scrutiny. 

Yet, there was a feeling she could not shake. The lingering premonition that tragedy had not left her entirely, not yet.

She kneeled in front of the grave once the party began to dwindle, leaving her, her umbrella bearer and a handful of others, having a hushed discussion somewhere behind her.

Her gloved palm rested against the freshly shifted soil, feeling beneath, not quite sure was she was attempting to discern. The only conclusion she could come to, was the obvious fact that it was damp and cold from the rain pouring above them.

Resigned, she pulled her palm back, making to stand. 

That was when she saw it. 

A brief glimpse at a silhouette somewhere beyond the enclosure of the graveyard, by the ruins of the old church no one frequented anymore.

She blinked, and it was gone, but she could’ve sworn on her soul that a man stood there. 

She knew what he looked like though he had been there for only the flash of a second. 

He was a handsome man, well dressed, an air of elegance that relayed his high social standing. 

But there was something off about him. The hollowness of his eyes, the way his skin seemed devoid of warmth.

She stared in the direction for longer than she intended, her heart feeling as though phantom hands were closing in, their grip painful.

“My lady?” A woman from behind called out to her. Her lady’s maid. “You ought to come inside before you catch a cold”

❛❛     ⸺      𓈒

              The marriage had only been signed in court. There had been no wedding, no ceremony. He had refused every single one of the formalities. 

She stood at the tall iron gates of the manor. It was a grand building, larger than one could imagine. In the days of its glory, it must’ve been more ornate than a palace if she had to compare. 

Now, however, it stood surrounded by overgrown foliage, the stone of its frontage cracked and crumbling.

It was a daunting sight to behold, leaving an uneasy pit in one’s stomach. 

Yet, it felt familiar to her, as though it reorganized her presence. Like a place that had once been a home, despite the impending ruination that seemed to linger. 

A ruination that she understood a little better when she found herself facing the man she would now call her husband. The same face, the same figure.

She wasn’t mistaken. It was him. 

The man she supposedly hallucinated on the burial of her deceased fiancé a fortnight previously. 

She wished to ask him, to question his place there, yet there was a look in his gaze that made her throat close up the second she attempted to speak of the topic.

He wore a gentle smile, as though he already adored her. 

And perhaps he did, for some odd reason she suspected she already had the answer to, though she couldn’t conjure it. 

But she was sure she would find out soon enough.

❛❛     ⸺    𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐃𝐘 𝐎𝐅 𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐒 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋  𓈒

              ⋆ i dont know what this is but i found an image on pinterest and i've been thinking about it ever since and it turned into this brainvomit. i might potentially turn this into some sort of gothic horror novella perhaps. or a roleplay?? god knows 🥀

              thank you for reading though <3