corpse bride → EDWARD CULLEN

𝐳𝐞𝐫𝐨

𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑
— 𝒻𝓇𝑜𝓂 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓋𝑒 —

𝐄𝐃𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐍 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐒 his fingertips along the tree bark of a weeping willow, all while wishing that he could hear its thoughts as clearly as any other being. What would it say to him if it could? Perhaps it would murmur the things it saw as it rose from the damp soil below, branches expanding with buds every spring and avoiding the frostbite that accompanied the cold. It would tell him the stories of everyone who passed through this same path, of the graveyard that lies among the grass, of the bones that have settled beside the winding roots. And maybe the tree would admit that corpses rest under Edward's feet, sleeping for now, awaiting the right moment to return to the land of the living. Some, however, would never have the opportunity . . . but today, the whispers in the breeze know that one will live again, if only to find the very thing she had lost: unrequited love.

The vampire grinds his teeth, unable to ignore the bloodthirst that has haunted his existence for over a hundred years. It reminds him that no matter what town he and his family travel to, even in a remote space like Forks, he can never outrun what awaits him in the afterlife. Immortality can not save him from damnation.

He leans against the trunk, disregarding his new clothing as he sinks to the dirt below and runs his fingers through his hair. Lately, every day seems the same — a routine of attending school and returning home to the same conversations with his family. Classical music embraces his room with warm hands through the night, but it doesn't ease his internal aches. Without sleep, or even a heartbeat to keep him distracted while the rest of the world is wrapped in slumber, the loneliness takes him under. It burns his throat more than the need for blood ever could, and tugs him deeper with every painful second. And then it drowns him, and somehow he still lives to find the next morning as he did the one before. A school day of hearing the dangerous thoughts of his peers, cautious looks that make his differences more obvious in the same dull town that has stolen the life away from those who once had potential. Life is considered a blessing when humans have such limited time, but becomes a curse when time is endless.

Here, surrounded by the quiet woodland that is miles from his temporary home in Washington, his gift is powerless. Only creatures lurk between the shrubs so close to dusk, and even then, they make better company than his own mind. He nearly scolds himself for being so ungrateful for the new beginning that Carlisle had given him so many years ago, an outcome that narrowly escaped death from the Spanish Flu a century ago. But recently, he has begun to wonder if he is meant for eternity. What is forever without a soulmate to spend it with?

The sun, as it begins to fall just beneath the mountains to signal the end of another day, glimmers on a discarded band that lies in the grass ahead of him. A ring, he finds, as he leans forward to pick it up: vintage argentium silver, simple because of its lack of a diamond, but beautiful nonetheless. Had someone lost it? From the way it was so effortlessly placed on a bed of moss, it seems as though someone had discarded it. Polished, he notices, and engraved with calligraphy: to eternity. Absentmindedly, he slips the band upon his finger, twisting it as the last light of the day dies so flawlessly.

The wind picks up around him, lifting fallen leaves from the ground and carrying them away — it's as if the breeze knows what is coming, what defiance of a natural balance will emerge from the depths below. The trees shake with anticipation, and the pale man rises from his spot on the ground to survey the dirt that cracks under his touch. The earth breaks apart, caving inside itself and leaving an empty crevice only feet away from his eternal body. With furrowed eyebrows, he takes a cautious step forward to assess the damage.

And then a hand — a rotten bone surrounded by mangled flesh and peeled skin — touches the surface, too close to his black sambas for his comfort.

With a wince, Edward stumbles, his topaz eyes locked on the corpse that slowly raises herself into the land of the living, leaving behind the tomb that cramped her for fifty years. Though her decaying body is practically a skeleton, he finds that the woman is staring expectantly at him, twirling a ring of her own within her grasp. The corrosion tears at his heightened senses, overtaking the air with the stench of death.

But in an instant, it's as if the wind rips away her costume, and exposes the silhouette resting beneath the carcass. Her skin repairs itself slowly, except for a wound that pierces her ribcage and another gash in her jaw. A dress replaces her naked remains, one that hugs her hips with lace, but bears stains of crimson. The young woman's hair, doused in a veil, cascades past her shoulders in loose curls, and her innocent features insist that she passed so suddenly that she hardly had enough time to realize it. She was young, too young, to be a corpse.

As if the woman had seen his earlier actions, she, too, slips a band upon her finger, before offering him a simple smile. Finally, the wind settles, and the sky grows dark as the stars emerge from dormancy.

And despite the fact that Edward is unsure if he is hallucinating, a single moment provides the truth: the bride ahead of him is real, living now, having just emerged from her grave.

Her heart, among the absolute silence that settles so gently in the trees that surround them, begins to beat again.

❝ i just HAD to give this short little
introduction chapter because the feedback
from you guys made me so happy omg.
i'm way too excited for this book, so
maybe i'll update soon! in the meantime,
check out my quil and paul lahote fics :) ❞